The Contingent

PLEASEREAD: Here is the repository of journal entries and cases files that have been written by members of The Contingent.

If a player enjoys writing reports or journals of games, they will earn a Re-Roll to be used any time during the current season. A player can any number of rerolls banked at a time, and use no more than 1 per game session. The Storyteller is the last word whether a re-rolls is appropriate to the situation

Entries may be subject to editing to adjust formatting for consistency.

TAGS

The Following Tags are used for Adventure Logs:

Season #
Denotes what season this post falls within

Journal
A personal journal entry by that character

Case Files
An official report submitted by a member for the records kept by The Contingent. All Case Files are also Tagged with the session’s name.

Flavor
Photos, postcards, telegrams, news clippings, etc. All sorts of things that add to the season’s experience, but perhaps not directly to a particular session or character

Jack looked over the research he’s accumulated. The Contingent had been digging into this for months and made very little progress; it only took him two weeks.

Maybe I have more to contribute to the Contingent than I thought. Maybe they didn’t dig back far enough…she has been around for a very long time and the Flaming Heart iconography has been used so widely for so long. Even the Catholic Sisters of the Sacred Heart adopted it. Hopefully the interrogators will get more out of Claudia now, but it’s difficult to get answers out of someone that only speaks with her hands—and every time you free her hands she tries to kill you.

Claudia earned a doctorate in ancient history with a specialization in Ancient Rome. She hasn’t been highly productive, but the papers she does release always seem to have ground breaking insights into Roman history. Usually her papers were involved with more rural and agrarian areas than the normal population centers that most historians focus on.

We know who her source is now that, but I guess we always did. I can’t believe she was cheeky enough to actually cite herself. A number of Claudia’s papers—including her thesis—cite Antonia Scaletti, which was the name on the deed of the house that Sarah Winchester bought and continued to build and expand on. It seems that this site was known as being close to the underworld, or prepared for this task for at least a century. Looking back on Antonia’s work, she also cited some of the same sources that Claudia did. She’s probably been doing this for a long time, always being recognized as a Roman history scholar every half century or so as she changed identities. This certainly made collecting all of the relics from Pompeii easy to explain. It seems like anything authentic that she could pry out of museum or university collections, she would grab; vases, pipes, broken pieces of murals, bowls—all fair game.

Through an "Immortals Among Us” conspiracy site, he was able to find pictures of Claudia going back centuries. Stella has only shown up more recently. She wasn’t listed in the “Immortals among us” database, but has shown up recently in pictures with Claudia. One of the members has been feeding any photo archives she can get her hands on into a facial recognition system she designed to run on Amazon. Never underestimate what smart, obsessed people can accomplish. Conspiracists will continue long after a research assistant has given up, even post docs. If only that effort could be spent on more productive studies, think of what they could do for humanity. On the other hand, maybe she just did. Some of the most interesting photos showed that she was at the first excavations of Pompeii and even most of the subsequent large excavations…and that was the key.

Focusing on Claudia’s and her previous nome-de-plumes’ research and papers around Pompeii turned up a story of a prostitute with dark hair and a beautiful voice. One of her clients apparently became too jealous of sharing her with others and in a fit of rage cut out her tongue, leaving her mute. This woman went on to become a priestess in a cult called the Followers of the Flaming Heart. This passage didn’t have much additional detail on the cult—that requires more research. However, it did say that shortly before Vesuvius’s eruption, the cult was trying to warn the citizens of Pompeii to get them to leave.

That definitely falls in line with what was on the video recording and what was found in the cave at the fountain head. It appears that as they drained the souls from the homeless and indigent of San Francisco and used them as vessels for their followers from Pompeii. They were able to coax the memories (or the souls?) of them out of the River Lethe where they brought it to the surface under the Winchester House. The Contingent has the lists of people, who they were, and who they are. He shook his head. I’m not even sure which deserves the past tense now, or what we can do about them.

John leveled a glare at his brother, Rhys. “Since the day I learned the truth. And with him digging up god knows what as a part of his normal job, he didn’t want anything hurting us. Him distancing himself from us was for our own good.”

“Oh, yeah sure. Richard, who practically raised you since father’s passing mind you, just up and disappeared for our own good. What it sounds like is he got tired of you being so dependent.”

“Oh, fuck you, Rhys. I was angry too, but this shit is serious. Haven’t you been watching the news? There are DEAD things walking in DC. You can’t tell me you don’t believe any of this after what’s been happening.”

“Yeah, the biggest hoax in history following in the wake of Jackson Carver’s death. You know what, they said the world was gonna end after the Mayan calendar, and before that, Y2K. People are fucking crazy, and this is just another psychotic episode in the history of man.”

John opened his mouth to reply, and then stopped. Perhaps the first time in a long time he managed to do such. Explaining it didn’t seem like it was going to achieve much. He turned, collecting his jacket and a set of keys that weren’t his (neither were, technically).

“I’m taking your car, poindexter. Look for shelter when you decide to believe. You’re still ‘near’ the delta and they’re draggin’ a bomb out that way.”

“What? No! I’ll call t-”

“And what? Show them the stolen car out front?”

Rhys blanched, having forgotten in the heat of their discussion that John did, in fact, arrive in a stolen car. That was gonna have to be moved…

John paused at the door, offering his brother a thin smile. “I’ve already chatted with sis. I suggest you do to. You know, just in case.”

With keys twirling in hand, he settled into his brother’s compact. Probably not the greatest thing to make a cross country trip in, but it was better than being pulled over for grand theft auto. With the turn of the key, the radio clicked on, playing a familiar tune.

Harry launched a multitude of windows across the screen by hitting Enter. Each flashing texts or graphics before closing to leave a single window with stats churning upward. He watched intently as the numbers continued to climb, After they passed some invisible threshold he relaxed and said to himself, “There, at least that’s done.”

Bringing up his multi-TOR mail client, he had so ironically named “Dark Mail,” he started typing, stopped, started back up again. This repeated process culminating in a break to grab beer and slices of cold pizza.

Before trying to start the email he checked the progress one last time on his “final” burst of videos and data. Already some of the seed boxes were reporting thousands of downloads, meaning it would never go away, had several dozen confirmed opens on the emails to journalists, bloggers and forum admins. These series of videos and information set around giving people hope and the information to take down things they may encounter; as well as those records of friends to humanity. Those creatures struggling in the darkness to protect humans, up to now, without thanks.

Harry stared at the screen for about an hour, or three beers later, before he started to type again.

To: Contingent <conalias-script_0156a9>
From: Harry McCoy <darthcamera.onion>
Subject: If there is no tomorrow

“Howdy,

For those who don’t know me I’m Harry McCoy, formerly of the Frequency, E-GaDs and one of you.

I’m heading off to San Fran, see if we can put an end to whatever it is that woke up out there. Hopefully document it while I’m there. I know I probably won’t. You see I think I carry at least two, maybe three, marks of the Patrons. If you don’t know what those four monsters are read up now!

I’m still not sure what some of us have done is the right thing, exposing all of this. It seems to have created so much panic and paranoia that the Patrons can probably tap into. To that end I’ve now released more digestible chunks and videos for news, and people in general, to explain ways they can protect themselves, identify “good” supernaturals, and give them hope. Let the people’s thoughts turn from horror to hope. I hope it helps.

So on to the sappy part. I’m not a combatant. I know that. There is a very good chance I won’t be making it out of San Fran. If not drink one for me. I’ll do the same for any of you that fall if I’m lucky enough to still be standing at the end.

It really has been a pleasure working with all of you. Every single one of you have been amazing; I couldn’t agree with Elijah’s video more.

To that end. Happy Hunting,

Harry McCoy.”

Hitting send the message is sent via “The Dark Web” and public to each agent’s preferred method of receiving email or text, at least the ones that Harry could dredge up.

This Never-Ending Road to Calvary

“So this is it, man, one way or the other. We win or we die. Or maybe we win and we die. ¿Quien sabe?"

“Girl, why you gotta be so damn depressing right now,” Reggie replied, “when y’all so damn close to the end of this shit?”

“Because I need it to be over, hermano. I was ready for it to be over in Raleigh. Two seconds away from picking Mal up and walking through that door straight into Hell, just to finish this. Church says that’s a sin, but then, we’ve apparently been praying to robots all along, so I’m not sure how much sin really matters, you know?”

“Listen, kid, before I was a car, I was drunk and homeless, so I know a few things about not feeling like anything matters. The only place that kinda talk leads is further down the hole. And that’s the last place you need to be if you’re gonna be fighting the zombie apocalypse or whatever. So, seriously, get your shit together and go kick ass, baby. It’s what you do. And quit asking your damn car for advice, chica. That’s what that half-wit down in New Orleans is for.”

The soft huff of a suppressed laugh escaped Eva’s lungs as she answered, “ _ Si, _ Regg, I know. But no one knows me better than my car. Not even my girl, since the whole soul replacement thing.” She lovingly ran her hand along the steering wheel of the ‘70 Impala. “Anyway, ’mano, I rigged up the walkies like I said I would, so that I’ll still be able to talk to you even from a distance. You won’t be able to answer back, but you should still be able to hear me if I call for you. Hopefully, it’ll help in a pinch. We’ll be on the road in the morning.”

“You and your lady get some rest, girl. Long road ahead.”

_

Sleep took a long time coming. Eva lay staring up at the ceiling, as Mal curled into her side, and could only think “By this time tomorrow, we’ll probably be…” She didn’t finish the thought, not because she was afraid of it, but because she wasn’t. Not really. Not anymore. There had been a time, not so long ago, when being dead had seemed like the worst possible outcome. But there were worse things. Case in point: zombies. Dead really wasn’t so bad.

The last few years with Mal had been a gift. Eva had never believed that she could love someone like this after the way she’d shut down when Mamá had died, but Mal and her weird ways had weaseled their way into her heart. Granted, they had also been years of pants-shitting terror, but that was on the vampires, and Carver, and the Patrons, and…

Anyway, people like Eva, they didn’t just get good shit handed to them without having to pay for it somehow. First it was just the running. Then, failing to stop Mal from losing her soul. Maybe…maybe this was gonna be the last payment. That was fair, right? For three years of love with Mal, and friendship with somanyothers that she never would have met otherwise? For three years of being more than just a mechanic and a thief? Totally fair.

“My mommy always said there were no monsters – no real ones – but there are, aren’t there?”

“Yes, there are.”

“Why do they tell little kids that?”

“Most of the time it’s true.”

Click The TV goes off as Wayne says “Sorry kid…it’s never true.” He turns back to packing, behind him, standing leaning against the wall, and as angry as he’s ever seen her stood Josie.

“You are a fucking idiot Wayne!”

“Look, I have to do this, I’ve tried explaining it to you several times. I can’t just quit!”

“Wayne Hodges! Look at me when I’m talking to you!” She screams

He turns to look at her. As angry as she is, she’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“You’ve put in your time, you’ve fought the monsters, and you’ve saved the world! It’s time you let someone else do it for a change. This…” She points at a newspaper lying on the table with pictures of riots and news about what amounts to total chaos “…isn’t your fault, it ISN’T YOURFIGHTDAMNIT!”

“YES IT IS!” Wayne yells back, not in anger, but in frustration. Josie’s taken aback for a split second.

“Look Josie, I joined the contingent to try to make the world safe for those who haven’t been exposed to the supernatural, so they have a chance at a normal life. That’s gone with Skaar’s announcement, the whole world has been exposed to this shit, and like it or not, I have a hand in that. I have to make it right, I have to help these people, cause God knows they aren’t prepared to help themselves. Millions of people are going to die…” He turns away, back to his packing. “If I can save even ONE person, I have to try.”

“Make no mistake Wayne, if you leave, you are doing this for you, and you alone. You aren’t saving me, and there damn sure will be no us!”

“Josie, you know how I feel about you. I love you more than I’ve loved anything else in this world, on it or above it. And you know that’s unfair to ask, to give me that kind of ultimatum. But you knew my answer before you made it. Josie…I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

Josie, in tears at hearing the answer she knew was coming, rushed over to Wayne and slapped him. She then started banging her fists on his chest, while crying “You son of a bitch!” Wayne just let her hit him, knowing how angry and scared she is, but also knowing she didn’t want to hurt him, just knock some sense into him.

After a few minutes, she settled down, and sat on the bed breathing heavily while Wayne finished packing. He picked up his suitcase, and Josie grabbed his arm, not wanting to let it go. “Please Wayne, Don’t go…”

“You know me well enough to know I have to go. I don’t know what’s going to happen, I would like to think that everything will turn out fine, but I just don’t know this time. No matter what happens, I love you.”

“Wayne, I”m serious, if you walk out that door, you are turning your back on me…on us. I can’t keep going on wondering if you are going to come back. It’s killing me. If you make it back, I won’t be here, I’ll be gone, and it’ll be your fault!” She said with determination, and sadness.

Carry On, My Wayward Sons & Daughters

The E-GaDs video feed shows a dark-skinned man in an impeccably-tailored charcoal suit seated behind a massive oak desk; his expression is taciturn and resolute. A circular wood-paneled wall partition in subtle ambient lighting curves around to frame the man and the desk. A crystal tumbler sits close at hand next to a bottle of 50-year Balvenie Scotch; papers and manila folders are scattered around a slimline desktop computer beside a low, green-shaded brass lamp. Elijah Sharpe’s eyes meet the lens of the camera, and he begins to speak.

“Good morning. Explosive allegations and accompanying evidence have been released to the media in recent weeks exposing a dark proposition for humanity: that the things we have learned to fear from mythology, ghost stories, faerie tales, and urban legends are all, to some extent, real.

“The Patrons’ machinations have resulted in tens of thousands of civilian deaths as documented by Contingent operatives in the reports I am about to disseminate to every press outlet I can contact. These reports will also be available for download at www.asi.net/monstersarereal/, and I’ve mirrored these files elsewhere in case someone attempts to lock down this information and keep it out of the public eye.

“I realize that this decision may not be the most prudent one for ASI given the security clearances that our work necessitates. That said, some things are far more important than profit. Working alongside myself, Trent Remington, Chester Clarke, and Dr. Adrian Skaar, the many brave people who have joined our cause have worked clandestinely against forces that seek to enslave, murder, or otherwise damage the whole of humanity.

“To some people, these confirmations of facts will amount to a confession on my part—and some people with a different agenda counter to our own will use this opportunity to brand us as domestic terrorists.

“Good. I want our enemies to be terrified. They ought to be terrified. The Contingent boasts personnel from among the best and brightest of our nation: seasoned combatants, brilliant scientific minds, engineers of unparalleled skill, and excellent negotiators. I am proud of each and every one of you, both those who have served in the past and are serving now—and especially those who have given their lives in service to our organization and the American people.

“To the members of the Contingent, I thank you all for your service. Each of you has been the candle in the darkness lighting the way for the lost, a voice for the voiceless crying out for help, a hunter keeping vigil through the long night—and some of you have done it for far longer than others. I know the duty weighs on you, and I wish I could tell you that it will be over soon, but the truth is that the work may never be done. Yet, with our agenda exposed—with the reality of the world unmasked—we are no longer alone. We are stronger than we ever have been before, because now the world knows the truth—and the true patriots among us now have the choice to step up and fight alongside us.

“In this dire hour of struggle, I ask you to consider this: in all my years as a hunter, I have yet to meet an enemy without a weakness. Nothing is unkillable, and few entities, if any, are truly immortal. Victory is never unattainable; it is merely a matter of using the resources and knowledge at hand in order to secure that victory.

“Today, every last man, woman, and child in America is the Contingent—and we will always fight to protect our own. With your continuing dedication and perseverance, we will prevail. Thank you, and may God bless America.”

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been…. 2 hours and 36 minutes since my last confession.”

Father Franklin looked up, glancing toward the screened confessional window. “That’s quite recent, my son. Surely you haven’t sinned so much in such a short period of time?”

“It’s not so much recent, Father, as the amount. We all do things we don’t necessarily want to do. Sometimes we have to do things that are necessary, but immoral. Sometimes we enjoy them a bit too much.”

“Well, son, I’m listening.”

“Tell me, Father… have you heard of the Contingent?” The shadowed figure shifted behind the screen.

Franklin frowned, thinking. “These… supposed monster hunters, yes? The ones saying that there’s a battle coming and that they are fighting for us?”

“They aren’t “supposed”, Father, I should know. I’m one of them. And I can promise you, the monsters are out there. I’ve seen terrible things… horrors you couldn’t even imagine. And I’ve done terrible things to make sure much worse doesn’t happen to everyone in the world. I’ve killed people who were working for the monsters trying to control this world and everyone in it. I’ve killed vampires, and Fae. I’ve seen and talked to ghosts. I’ve fought… well, I guess you’d call them demons. It’s all real, Father, every word of it.”

Franklin thought for a moment. “My son, I’m not sure if these things are real or not. Obviously there is evil in the world, and it is our duty to stand against it… but if you’ve done these things you say, then all you need do is ask forgiveness to receive absolution.”

“I don’t need your absolution, Father. What I do must be done. What I need from you is to rally your congregation. The time has come, it’s here already. They need to hope, hope for the future of humanity, and stand united against the things that want to bring us down. They need to pray, pray for themselves and their neighbors, pray that we can end things decisively. They need to stand against the darkness, and resolve to slam the door in its stinking face. Tell your congregation. Tell your superiors. Spread the word.” The figure stood, moving toward the door.

“Wait my son, you must tell me more! Wait!” Franklin moved to the door, pushing it to no avail. An hour later, one of his parishioners found him trapped in the confessional, still yelling, a piece of wood lodged in the door.

South Mountain Eastbound Welcome Center, I-70

Charles sat in the driver’s seat of his Crown Vic, having a hasty lunch made from the rest stop’s vending machines.

“Okay, that’s the Catholics, Evangelicals, Greek Orthodox, Baptists, Presbyterians, Lutherans, Methodists, and Pentecostals, plus every large non-denominational I could find. Maybe I’m wasting my damn time, but at least it’s something, if just one of them listens…” he trailed off.

Ding!

Charles picked up his phone, reading the text from Tamara Oliver. “Shit!” He revved the Vic, screeched out of the rest stop parking lot. If he hurried he might have time to stop by his weapons cache in Frederick. Might be a few things there that would be useful. He flipped the radio on, and music came from a station barely in tune…

Now my muscles start to rust, my thoughts are growing cold,
while Gabriel and Satan shoot craps for my soul….

Forest and Taz try to remember what they're talking about

“Hey, if you’re talking about Maman Minerva, she’s got a name, and it’s kind of rude to call her things like ‘babe’, Forest.”

“Whaa-, no dog! We were doing the thing from the movie!”

“What?”

“The movie thing! You know, man, the movie…with David Bowie and the muppets and shit, right?”

“What?”

“Ah jeez, Taz, you gotta see this. It’s like…a classic. Here, can you hold this and I’ll pull it up on screen.”

“What am I holding?”

“My pipe! This one’s my favorite. It, like, takes me places, man.”

“Why is there a little man floating in the pipe bowl?”

“Oh, sweet, he’s back! You see him, dog?”

“Nope, not anymore. Were you really just watching Zac’s ‘Night of the Chupacabra’?”

“Yeah, man, you’ve got to check out this one scene where the chupacabra flies down from like out of nowhere and bites a dude’s head clear off!”

“But chupacabras don’t have wings, Forest. At least, not the ones we fought last year.”

“Dude, what??”

“What?”

“You met a chupacabra?!”

“Oh yeah, we met them. As in they tried to take us apart, piece by piece. It was at the Zookeeper’s battle arena and holding cells, where we freed the Sphinx.”

“….cool.”

“What were we talking about again?”

“I dunno, man, something about vibrations and that crazy door in the astral plane. Also maybe David Bowie.”

“Yes! Forest, how are you at working with energy?”

“Energy, like vibes? Hell yeah, I got that finger magic, yo!”

“So, say we were trying to fight against that door in the collective unconsciousness being opened, overlapping this world with the underworld and doing terrible things to everyone.”

“Yeah, dude, everybody’s talking about it. The bad dudes are freaking out and trying to find a way to close it ”

“Yeah, so…wait, what?”

“What?”

“Which bad dudes?”

“Yooo, dude, shit, I just realized you don’t know anything about that. There’s like, so many factions I can’t keep track of all of them. But check it, see I’m talking about the secret masters of everything. Like, they try to define what truth even is. Well, not the ones I’ve met. Hah, yeah, I’m nowhere near cool enough to face like the boss monsters. I’m just facing the pawns. Or no, the bishops maybe. Pawns would be like you guys.”

“So we decided to try to fight the door opening by using the resonance of the music of the world, channeled through mediums that can focus and strengthen it, like the water or crystal caverns, things like that.”

“Oh yeeeaaah. Tapping into the music of the spheres sort of thing to bring about harmony.”

“Do you think you could help us? We need to try to push that door closed again. The Patrons are trying to bring in the underworld through different methods and portals in our world, like the collective consciousness and the waterways. We’re trying to save the world by turning their own methods against them, but this time with consent and while focusing on what makes us stronger together. We could really use your help keeping things from going too crazy, though. We’re in pretty deep waters with not much info on how to do what we’re trying to do. Can you help us figure out how to direct the vibrations, this heartbeat of the world, and focus it to close that door and lock it again? Maybe even pull out or destroy the key? Granger is also working some angles with dreamstate magic, helping people figure out how to close the door in their minds that got opened by the Patrons. If you can’t do the resonance, could you maybe help him with that?”

“…”

“I know, it’s crazy. It’s a lot to take in, too. Here, I have some of this stuff written down if that makes it easier to-“

“Nope, I’m down.”

“Really??”

“Hell yeah, man. Save the world through good vibes? I’m all over that shit!”

“Oh, man, Forest, that’s awesome! You’ll have the backing of all of us in the Contingent, and Empire, of course, and-”

“Who?”

“Who what?”

“Who’s that?”

“The Contingent? The Empire Foundation? The people you work for?”

“What?”

“…”

“Oh hey! Labyrinth! Taz, you’ve got to see this movie, man! Tell me about these Contingent and Empire dudes while we watch this, though you can’t talk over the songs, ok? These are, like, the best songs.”

(TEXT TO GRANGERSIMMS: “Forest is down, but has no idea what I’m talking about aside from some really scary and important things I don’t understand yet. This may take a while. Also, was David Bowie supposed to be part of our plans? I can’t remember now.”)

Donnie Fitzgerald stepped out onto the sidewalk, the humid summer air almost suffocating. They would be there any minute. He’d been working every other day since they started, but today was Saturday, and Saturday was Donnie’s day off.

It was cloudy today. Donnie counted himself lucky that he wouldn’t be in the beating down sun all afternoon.

As he started walking toward the corner, he heard them. It was like a low honking noise on the other end of the neighborhood.

“Right on time.” He said as he stepped past the corner shop and onto Elysian Fields Avenue.

Every day, for the past nine days, parades had been starting up at 3:00pm on the dot, all over the city of New Orleans. Ten of them each day. Six would take the same route, like the one approaching Donnie. The other four snaked through the city, changing path each day. They were lead by the hired Second Line, with no other indication of who had arranged them. But there they were, every day, beckoning the people along their paths to join in, jump into the line, and become their own parade.

The six main routes came down Elysian Fields Avenue, St. Bernard Avenue, Canal Street, Earhart Boulevard, St. Charles Avenue, and Tchoupitoulas Street. They converged at the French Quarter at about seven o’clock, at which point, the Second Lines would spread out and the entire quarter was filled with music. Classic music from the first days of jazz in the Mississippi Delta. Every other street would have its parade. They criss-crossed paths, converging and splitting up until they all stood at Jackson Square. As the sky shone Purple and gold, they stood on the green grass of the square and let the bells of St. Louis Cathedral count them in at eight o’clock on the money.

It was a cacophony of sound, reverberating through the square as they would turn and move to Artillery Park, where a massive replica of Our Lady of Prompt Succor had been erected ten days before. There, they played to the Lady and to the River and to the sky and to the land beneath their feet. The air buzzed with the sounds of brass bands blaring, children laughing, and people singing. The ground shook as they danced. The waters rippled from the waves of horns and the beat of drums. Sunbeams struck the instruments and lit the square with the light of joy. Over the past ten days, one hundred parades had resulted in hundreds of thousands of people from around the city and surrounding areas to come and stand together, to dance together, to laugh and sing together, to pray together.

This would be the last night, and it was a night of celebration. A celebration of life, of love, and of hope.

Whim and Taz search for common ground

The old well was a mossy, crumbling pile of fieldstones left over from the halcyon days of the Rourke estate, now taking up a small corner on the edge of the Hill Valley artist’s enclave with the encroaching forest just started to enfold it, with vines and saplings weaving their tendrils through the nooks and crannies. Taz always liked to hang out there, peering into the shadowed well to catch a glimmer of the light reflecting on the water below. The nearby artists would frequently lug their easels and canvases, or sketch pads and charcoals, or wood blocks, or chunks of clay, or whatever their preferred medium was, in an attempt to capture its eerie peacefulness that somehow seemed to still speak of potentialities, mysteries, adventures to be had in the world. If Taz was hanging out there, they’d include her in the work: a strange, thin, tumbleweed of a woman who breathed and looked about as though she wasn’t quite sure which world she was in at any given moment. The well and Taz seemed to get along.

It was to that well that Taz went before her first mission to New Orleans, flipping a coin into its depths and quietly calling out Whim’s name. “I need to leave for a while, but will you be here when I return? Please, Whim. It’s important.” She had waited, and, failing to hear the coin hit the water, she nodded her thanks and headed to the bayou and the horrors that awaited there.

Now back in Hill Valley and no longer screaming in her sleep from the visions of thousands of people carefully, lovingly sewing themselves into a tower of flesh and madness, a vision that held shreds of the memory of her own temptation to join them, to finally find her perfect spot in the world in that beautiful tower, Taz made her way back to the well. She gazed at it with eyes that were a little more weary and thoughtful, picking out a good spot to…there it is. Her crafter’s eye found the safest place to rest and that’s where she went, straddling the green grass on one side and the foreboding, enticing plunge to the well’s depths on the other. Another coin, another silence. Taz closed her eyes and began speaking.

“Hey Whim. Thanks for coming. I’m…well, things are getting pretty heavy. Guessing I don’t have to tell you what’s been going on, from what I can remember you probably knew way more before any of us. Thing is, I’m not even sure how involved I’ve been in any of this. Something is telling me that it’s more than I’d like to know, but a holy man recently told me that if I can figure that out, I can stop things from getting worse, at least. He talked about atonement, and being free from guilt. I don’t think that’s going to happen, and to be honest, it doesn’t much matter. What matters are people, all people. This world and the good it tries to strive for in spite of all the shit. Maybe the Patrons are right and we’re all under some other thing’s control. But assaulting and exploiting millions of people, tearing apart the land, driving innocents to madness and suffering, committing mass murder…no. You don’t win freedom for people by slaughtering and using them like sheep, no matter how you call yourselves liberators. You win control. And anyone willing to do what they’ve done just to get there…

“I need your help. That door the Patrons opened. We need to close it, and soon. We’re going to try to protect the earth with anchor points of the collective consciousness: all the hopes and prayers of the world shielding it from the onslaught of afterlife. And we’re trying to use the resonance, the rhythm of the world to close that door. It’s crazy, and idealistic, I know. But they hurt us so badly by using our own traits against us, and we were so short-sighted and foolish. I’m going to guess something. I’m going to guess that you don’t necessarily want that door closed, right? Because a bokor in Louisiana explained something to us about the old magic that’s been coming back into the world through it, waking up that magic in folks around the world. Doing what you were willing to risk people’s lives and sanity for, to give people the opportunity to live up to their potential, right?”

Eyes still shut, Taz reached down and took something out of the pack nestled by her feet. A strange, dull metal contraption, covered with odd ridges and switches, appeared in her hands and she blindly began making adjustments, fingers roaming over its surface with practiced ease. A low hum filled the air, and the object – a cube? A globe? – glowed softly, its light almost unnoticeable in the late afternoon sun.

“I love creating things. No joy in the world quite compares to that moment when you’ve built something that solves the problem in just the right way, or hell, doesn’t even solve any problems but somehow adds to the world just in its sheer interestingness, you know? At least, I used to think that. Nothing could compare to the moment of realizing your potential. It felt right. Just as right as that fucking tower. Thing is, we all have potential. What happens when we decide to realize that without any care toward anyone else? Anything else? Because we’re so wrapped up in our own selves that we can justify anything, rationalize any damage because doing what we feel we were made to do just feels so damn right, so how can it be bad? I think the Patrons are kind of like that. They want what they want, they’re convinced they’re right, and they’re willing to kill and destroy and manipulate and hurt…everyone.

“I remember when I saw the place they took you, you and the other kidnapped children, out in Minnesota. That old sewer with the locked rooms, the drawing on the walls, the cells. What they did to you is unforgivable. They turned you into a mage, but do you really think what they did was the way to do it? Deep down? Do you really want to allow people in power to hurt and experiment on others like that again? Whim, magic is back. The door did that much, and there are people all over the world trying to grasp at an understanding of something inside them that maybe they never knew they had, or were missing. If that door stays open, a whole lot of ugly is going to hit us, too, and those people are going to die screaming, maybe insane, maybe taken and used. And this wide green world is going to crack under the weight of that pain.”

Taz released the gadget from her hands and it hung in the air, methodically scanning the area.

“It’s searching for those nanites created by the Patrons. I finally got enough info to at least try to detect them before they infect others. Too late for a lot of people, including myself, but hopefully it’ll benefit others.”

“Help us close that door. There’s so much potential already unlocked, and we can work together to help develop it in a better way. We can bring back the mage school, but not as one place that can be targeted, or even overly controlled, but a network of mentors and apprentices all over the world, supported and protected. I talked with Dr. Skaar and The Empire Foundation is willing to do this with you. You know their transparency and what they’re fighting for, so no back deals or backstabbing. What you can do, nobody else can. You can help people find their way in a world that has become something frighteningly new. And you can help us close that door before it destroys all the potential inside us.”

A soft rustle of downed leaves, a nearly silent outtake of breath. Taz opened her eyes and turned toward her companion. They stood quietly, searching each other’s eyes for understanding. Whim took out a familiar coin and flipped it in the air, catching it neatly and slapping it on the back of her other hand. She glanced at its face. Then she reached out and took Taz’s hand, pulling her up from the edge of the well.

“I have a few ideas. Let’s take a walk.”

As they turned toward the forest, the odd gray scanner floating behind them cast its beam over Taz’s back and began to beep urgently, its warning light still barely noticeable in that late afternoon sun.

Frogs chirp outside a small ranch house as the rain patters down on the roof shingles. Inside, a family sits in their living room, faces tense, staring at their TV as it fades from commercial back to the nightly news. The anchor’s somber voice cuts the silence.

“Good evening. We’re continuing our top story. As the Denver Riots are reaching day two, the federal government has issued mandatory curfews in several major cities, and is deploying the National Guard to attempt to take control of a scene being described as chaos. As many of you are aware, in the wake of the revelation that a group of werewolves were located somewhere in the Colorado region, thousands of protesters descended on Denver. One set of protesters, speaking out against the use of government forces against American citizens who were seemingly defending the local community, clashed with another group who saw the wolves as an abomination, carrying signs saying “man shall not lie with beast.” Nine people are dead and the violence still has no end in sight. When reached for a comment, the Governor of Colorado had this to say…”

The sound of the garbage bin outside being knocked over springs the family to their feet. Recently-installed floodlights blast their yard. After a long moment where nothing moved, the lights flick off. Unsettled, the family sits back down, occasionally glancing at the window.

“In other news, the FBI raided the Empire Foundation’s Manhattan office this morning, citing ethics violations and a threat to national security. Spontaneous demonstrations erupted that were dispersed with tear gas. Fourteen people were rushed to the hospital, but no one was seriously wounded. Dr. Adrian Skaar is wanted for questioning.

“Although the Empire Foundation’s tours of the supernatural have been shut down, you can still go to our website and watch the video where our very own Bruce Berman entered the labs. Berman will join us after the break to discuss what he saw”

Leanna stepped out of the supply closet of Granger’s Own and into the garage proper. The pleasant Colorado air gave way to the oppressive summer heat of South Carolina.

“Uuuuuugh. Summer. The worst.” she exaggeratedly muttered to herself as she closed the door.

She started sneaking towards the main office where Granger was probably fiddling with something or another. Maybe he was hanging with Mike? She liked Mike. He always had the nicest things to say about her and her cookies.

She crouched down as she approached the office window, gently set down her tin of baked goods, and slowly rose up to peer in. Granger was in there. Elbows on the desk and his forehead resting in his palms. His dirty blonde hair pulled between his closed fingers. He was trying to figure something out. Something important.

He looked up and sniffed the air. A smile spread across his face.

“Hey Lee. Come out come out wherever you are.”

She ran in and pounced him planting a big ole kiss on that smile. He kissed her back and then pulled away with a serious expression.

“Real talk. Before you get all Springy on me,” he said as he pushed her back gently.

She crossed her arms. Her eyes narrowed as she cocked her head. “Wait, are you breaking up with me?”

“What!? No! What?”

“What?” She unfolded her arms and backed away slightly embarrassed.

“Why would I do that?”

“Dude I dunno! You’re the one being all ‘Real talk’,” she said in a mocking deep voice.

“Jeeeesus, woman. No. The end of the world is waiting to smack us in the face, and I need to ask you something important before it does.”

“OH MY GOD are you proposing!?” Her eyes widened as she brought her hands up to her face covering her nose and mouth.

“Holy…what? Are you kidding me right now? Would you just let me talk?”

Leanna grumpily walked over to a chair and plunked down. “Fine. Talk, South Paw.”

“Ok. Wow. So. Remember how last winter you were telling me about dream magic? How you and other Folk can walk from dream to dream. Something about them being all connected. All dreams over all times.”

“Yeah dude. I remember. How do you though? You were so baked…”

“Oh I dunno? I guess being told there was this vast interconnected network of all of humanity’s dreams was the kind of thing that stuck with me. It’s kind of a big deal, Lee!”

“Point.”

“Any way. I’ve been thinking about the door that the Patrons unlocked. A door into the collective consciousness of humanity. We’re trying to shut it. Pushing it from this end. Taz has been working on some intense stuff but what if we helped by pulling it from the other end? What if the collective consciousness of humanity pulled the door shut while we pushed? A sort of fail safe.”

“Go on…”

“Is it possible, for you or anyone you know to help people dream of shutting that door? All the people. Ever. They’ve all been told by now the reality of their world. Its some heavy stuff. And they’re probably dreaming about it. It shouldn’t be that hard to focus those dreams, right? Ugh…I don’t…I don’t know anything about how this works…but…”

“Granger. Shut up. Listen to me. Let’s say you had the power to make deals, right? With like elements of reality. Like lets say you and Electricity made a deal. And you could summon it. Be protected from it. All that stuff.”

“Sounds pretty cool.”

“It is. But let’s say some dudes did a thing and made that power stronger. But the thing that person did would hurt everyone else in a bad way.”

“I’d find a way to stop them even if the power went away.”

“I know you would, man. And that’s why I love you. But not everyone would. Me and mine…we can jump around in dreams so much better right now. It’s like whatever the Patrons did with that door made all of us invincible in there. It used to be dangerous to go from dream to dream, but now we can run around like it’s an open field. We can shape things and make safe places. We can quell nightmares, man. Its insane. And amazing.”

“But everyone is going to die, Lee. There won’t be any new dreams to run around in.”

Leanna got up from her chair and walked over to Granger as she spoke.

“I know, man. I know. But what if there was a way to stop the Patrons but keep the door open? I mean the door being open isn’t bad. It’s just being used to do a super bad thing. Like woah bad.”

“Ok. Let’s follow that thought to conclusion then. We stop the Patrons’ plans somehow. The door stays open. You and the other Folk get free reign of the dreams and your powers are stronger forever. Can you promise me that that door won’t be used as a way to hurt humanity again? Can you promise me that someone running through that open field of dreams won’t do something evil? That humanity won’t be manipulated or damaged through their dreams?”

“Granger. Dude. Come on. There would be plenty of us who would defend that place from anyone who would try something like that. We’d keep it safe, just like you and the Contingent keep the real world safe.”

“These are people’s dreams though, Lee. Deeply personal things that, sure, can be nudged to inspire greatness. And that’s a great thing. A good thing. I can support that one hundred percent. But they can also be shattered just as easily. Hopes and dreams and aspirations torn asunder by some ass hole on a power trip. Or even worse, as collateral damage because you tried to save the world.”

“I know first hand the cost of war, Lee. I payed it. I made bystanders pay that cost too when I couldn’t disarm that bomb. I made that little girl pay that cost when I tried to teach her dad a lesson when I saw him beat her and her mom and I couldn’t stop him any other way. Do you want to play that kind of dangerous game with something as sacrosanct as dreams? What could ever be an acceptable loss when it comes to dreams, Lee? Could you pay that cost?”

“Alright. Alright. Damn. Good points all around. Now I just sound like a little girl who wants to keep playing with her new toy. That’s one way to end a high. Jeeze.”

Leanna bit at her bottom lip, bounced up and down nervously and then sighed as she came to a hard decision.

“Ok. Ok. I’ll help. And there’s lots more Folk that want to help I’m guessing. This is our world too, man. We fought tooth and nail and endured more than you can imagine to get back here. And we’ll help defend it. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t dudes that’ll try to have their cake and eat it too. Or even fight you on this. If we’re going to do this I need you to Promise that you’re in this to the end and you and your people are going to do everything possible to set things right or I swear by my name there will be hell to pay.”

Granger paused as he was about to agree.

“Is this going to make it harder for you guys to hide? From…you know…”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, dude. One Earth shattering scenario at a time, please.”

“Ok, then. I promise, Lee. The Contingent and I are in this to the end…one way or another.”

“Good. Then so am I,” she said with a heavy sigh and sealed the Promise with a kiss.

The last time Tamara Oliver had wandered into the Tulgey Wood, it had been a stiflingly hot and oppressive place, filled with the sounds of unnatural beasts prowling the underbrush. Now, it was cool and dark, and dimly lit with the brightness of a swollen full moon peeking through the blue-leaved treetops overhead. Before she had felt only anger and what she had thought was righteousness but now realized in retrospect to be self-loathing, a side effect of the psyche-fracturing virus that the Patron of the Thorn had injected into ASI’s dream matrix. This time she felt confident, self-assured, aware of her inner self-righteousness—and determined never to let it get the best of her again.

But why am I here? she thought. This is more than a dream. It’s exactly like the woods in Ken’s matrix. Tamara didn’t dream often, and rarely remembered them when she did have them. Usually they were about high school, or being stuck in airports—boring stuff by most standards.

“Ah, good, you’re here,” said a smarmy voice from somewhere above Tamara. “You’re the last one to arrive, you know. The meeting is due to begin shortly. You’ll need to get there quickly.”

Tamara’s head snapped upward as she searched for the source of the voice—a long-haired panther-sized cat with white and silver tufts of fur and wide green-yellow eyes. “Who the fuck are you?” she asked.

The cat chuckled. “You humans are so crude nowadays. No manners anymore. I much preferred people in the Victorian era, you know. So prim—eager to bow and curtsy as they ought.”

Tamara pulled a pistol from her side, only half-wondering how it had gotten there, and cocked the hammer as she aimed at the cat. “What do you want with me? What’s this ‘meeting’ about?”

“Keeping our worlds from crashing together—if you can see your way to helping out with that, that is.” From the woods behind Tamara, a low-thundering series of footsteps accompanied by a bestial snuffle sounded, and a bandersnatch stepped out.

It licked her cheek rather adorably.

“There’s no saddle, but you’ll make do, I presume,” the cat continued in a laboriously blase tone, its body fading into the darkness before its eyes and mouth did. “Follow the path out of the woods and toward the door.”

“What door?” Tamara’s eyes narrowed; she’d read the internal communiques at both ASI and the NSA detailing what had happened in the Triangle.

“Oh, the one that everything else is running away from, I’d expect.”

The bandersnatch bounded over chessboard patches of grass sod toward the glowing nimbus on the horizon; trickles of momeraths scampered past them, some squelching under the beast’s paws. At one point, Tamara glimpsed a herd—a herd, really?!—of rabbits on the horizon and yanked the bandersnatch’s mane to keep it from trampling the terrified creatures.

It wasn’t until the rabbits had passed, and the dust left in their wake had settled, that she realized what they were running from. The landscape ahead was markedly different from the fantastical surroundings Tamara had ridden through to get here. It looked like a modular continent floating in empty ash-colored sky: pieces of twisted reality ripped asunder and thrown together haphazardly. Here, a desert littered with doll parts; there, a replica of St. Peter’s Square in blood-red marble dotted with statues of horribly-mutilated people; elsewhere, a swampy forest where dark shapes stalked the barren moss-draped trees. New areas were being constantly added to the horrid landscape, stretching out impossibly far toward the horizon—toward a massive glowing iron door.

The bandersnatch leapt from island to island across the network of sinister places, finally stopping on an island of grassy earth that seemed markedly out of place. Atop the island, Tamara could see a few dozen people standing, staring out into the gray toward the great door. She recognized a few people she’d worked with previously in some capacity or another at ASI: Lourdes Lopez, the dreamseer who’d gotten stuck in the dream matrix with her, and Karen Sugimoto, another psychic Tamara had shown around the ASI Washington headquarters. Many of those present whom she didn’t know personally she still recognized from reading their internal dossiers.

One in particular stood out, though. “I thought you were retired,” she snapped as she dismounted the bandersnatch next to a bearded, dark-haired man in jeans and a ‘King In The North’ t-shirt.

“So did I,” Aaron Mathias responded, kicking a rock with the toe of his Chuck Taylors absentmindedly. “Turns out you can resign from ASI and quit being a hunter, but being a dreamseer isn’t exactly a position with an exit interview.”

“I take it you’re the one who sent the cat. Did you call all these people here? Hell, for that matter, why the hell can I even see this?”

“Sombellatrol exposure,” Aaron explained. “Dr. Cunningham mentioned that it might have some side effects in people with extranormal cognitive talents, but we never saw any in the trials I participated in at ASI. Your reaction to the Usturanol was the first major incident Ken ever documented. Anyway, yeah—you can project into this world now, like us, although it’s…not as safe for you.”

Tamar frowned, resting her hand on her hip. “What’s your angle, Mathias? And how I do I get out of here?”

“Oh, you’ll wake up eventually. We all do. Well, we have so far anyway. Now, if that door opens, that may not be the case.” Aaron turned to face the door, squinting into the distance. “I can’t even keep the one the Fae implanted in my mind closed anymore. Not since the shit that went down in North Carolina a few weeks ago. And I end up standing near this thing every time I go to sleep now. All the dreamseers do. We’ve been discussing it for a few weeks…but it’s gotten worse. Other people are seeing it, too. Normal people—Eva Jimenez and a couple other hunters who worked with her in New Orleans have called me to ask about it. That’s what all these new islands of reality out here are: Nightmares, Tamara. The nightmares of all of humanity, and this door is using them like building blocks to construct a bridge through the Dreamlands.”

“So this thing is now projecting fully into the collective consciousness?” Tamara shuddered at the implications of that.

“Yep. What’s worse is, this reality can’t withstand the weight of it all. Eventually, it’s going to collapse into ours. And that’s not all. Sometimes, it—” The booming sound of a knock from the other side of the door stopped Aaron mid-sentence. The door shook on its hinges. Darkness and blood seeped out from beneath it; a flash of fire ringed the outline of the door in its frame for a split second before it settled back into position. As it did so, more islands popped into existence around them, bridging the gap in the gray between the nightmare realms and the door; the shadow and blood coalesced into tangible forms in the grey and leapt toward the islands, seeking cover on their surfaces like lurking beasts . “—does that.”

“Fuck me,” Tamara exclaimed. “Have you figured out a way to stop it?”

“Nope,” Aaron responded, “but we can sure as hell guard it. And we can kill anything that gets out. But we need your help, and the help of people like you—or folks like Miles Jaggens. Get Ken to dispense the rest of his Sombellatrol supply to them. If they all dose up, we can bring them here…and give humanity something new to believe in.”

“You’re talking about macroneural projection,” Tamara said, realizing what Aaron had in mind. “Every telepath we can find beaming a signal back into humanity to counteract the effect the door has on their collective psyche.”

“Exactly,” he said. “Adrian Skaar’s decision to go public, and Harry McCoy’s release of the Secret Frequency’s archives on E-GaDS, has informed people—they’ve revealed to the entire world a real idea of what we’re fighting against for the very first time. It’s also opened everyone’s minds to perceiving new layers of reality. The Patrons will exploit that. So we’ve gotta push back.”

“Alright,” Tamara said. “I’m in. But what sort of vision do you need me to project?”

“This.” Aaron glanced over her shoulder at Lourdes and Karen, and nodded, then closed his eyes and bowed his head, breathing in deeply. The air around them shimmered, and their forms contorted, their shapes drastically altering within the span of mere seconds.

All around Tamara, the gathered dreamseers began to change forms, their dream avatars forming a vanguard before the door—some animals or armored knights, others mythical beasts or clockwork war machines that nearly defied description. Where Karen had stood, there was now a golden heron as tall as a horse. Lourdes’ body coiled as it morphed, becoming a rainbow serpent with feathered wings. Aaron, too, changed.

His avatar had no eyes. A gaping hole peered from its humanoid face, its head haloed in gossamer webs of spidersilk and wreathed in barbed chains. A serene mouth smiled peacefully beneath the maw, contrasting in a beautifully terrifying fashion with the violent pose the winged figure struck. Shining metal plates lined its body, and it held a short blade of silver in both of its slender hands, each maybe eighteen inches long.

It turned to Tamara and spoke in a hollow tenor; Aaron’s voice echoed faintly behind it. “Gather the telepaths, Tamara, and bring them here, every night. Get them to tell the world our story. Give them all a dream to help beat back the nightmares.”

Then the winged figure raised its blades, and the dreamseers took flight, diving toward the islands to begin their hunt.

Storyteller: Justin

“Well, things are going to Hell in a handbasket, quick. After what we learned in the Triangle, we’re more aggressively following some persons of interest. One such person is a man named Edgar Rideau. He was associated with some of those folks at Six Flags and fled into the bayou last month. One of our own, Adah Épiphanie, has been following since then. Three weeks ago, word from her completely stopped. A week later, as quickly as it had stopped, it started again saying that everything was fine, she just needed some more time. We sent this on up to our Empire Foundation folks for analysis and they came back with one conclusion, ‘Compromised.’

“Adah is as loyal as they come, and for her to be compromised is some bad business. I need some experienced folks to get in here, rescue her, find out what the hell is going on, and take care of whatever business is brewing.“

-Chris McMillian

Hunters

Storyteller: Cathy

Whatever Stella let loose on the Bay Area appears to be escalating. Gina is reporting seeing lost souls all over the city. There has been a dramatic increase in the strength and frequency of earthquakes in the area. Empire Foundation scientists have been unable to find a natural cause for this spike in activity. The Union has had its handful trying to track Stella down. Our only lead is that her mute employee, Claudia, was seen coming and going into the Winchester Mystery House in San Jose. According to the local news, a new room was recently discovered in the house after one of the recent quakes. This cannot be a coincidence. We need to get a team into that house and find out what Stella is doing there.

Hunters

Storyteller: Johnathan

“Once the business in the Triangle came to light, me and the rest of the Union rolled pretty heavy on all of Jillian Mosaddegh’s haunts and hideouts just as quick as the phone could ring. A bunch of made-up shit, gas leaks, city planning, whatever. We never did catch her, she’s a slippery bitch.”

“Anyway, we found a real motherfucking mess out in Alexandria, right near where y’all grabbed that weird hooker last year. Listen, it’s not easy to explain, but the Contingent needs to send some people knowing about Dr. Von Hamner and they need to get here yesterday. There’s some messed up stuff down in the basement, and best Dr. Sandoval can figure out, it’s mixed up with Von Hamner’s past.”

- Bert Warner

Hunters

Quintin Hollensworth

Quintin was running out of time. The portal back would be closing soon, the beetle bridges were starting to waken and writhe, and he only had one flare left.
He waited, hearing the clicks and screams of the Albino Skeletons as they followed the trail of flares leading to him.
He waited.
He watched as every step of the translucent skeletal guardians drained the soil of all color, filling the air with an acrid stench akin to burnt rubber. Beyond this terrible field was his oldest friend, somewhere within the tiered structure that the locals had called ‘The Temple of Outside’.
The temple began to shift and dance. His walkie crackled on “….r me? I said, I got it. Hope my path is clear!” A beam of rage shot from the temple’s peak, evaporating several Warbling Wraiths before disappearing into the sea above.
There! Cuthwright was visible for just a moment, falling through a fluid doorway then stumbling between feathered huts.
Quintin fired the flare.

Quintin now had a three-day hike through the mountain snow to return to base camp. Cuthwright’s final words crowded his thoughts, “This is how it was always going to be. Make sure that doctor of yours puts this horrible thing to good use!”
The ‘horrible thing’, held within a specially crafted capsule, lay on a sled pulled behind him. Even contained, its influence was still enough to turn the snow nearby into a kind of black rust. When the strange device, composed of bone and sinew, was collected it had jerked, momentarily brushing against Cuthwright’s leg. By the time Cuthwright had gotten back to the portal, his skin had become crystalline and begun to crack.
Quintin has never minded that most people never believe his stories, even within the Contingent. One of the few that has listened, has been Dr. Skaar. Skaar had taken to funding Quintin’s expeditions in search of artifacts. His only requirements being, the artifact for study, meticulous notes of everything encountered, and an in depth interview after each one. He had never considered, or cared, if these notes or interviews were made public.
Now though, he knew he needed to tell the other part of the stories, he needed to tell of those that had sacrificed so much, those he had lost.

Freight Car Flo slowly braked the electric powered velocipede. She unwrapped the olive shemagh from her muscular face, and then pulled the vintage riding goggles to her forehead. Squinting to check the horizon away from the sea for railroad bulls and other interlopers just doing their job she addressed Virgil Half-Dollar and Happy Harry waiting by the blue pickup. “Virgil you old bum, nice to see you’re still standing on just two feet, what do you have for us”?

Virgil brow lifted and a smile crossed his face. The expression caused a twitch of pain moving the healing skin from the fire on the other side of the door at Chapel Hill. “Carrots mostly, but there is a good mix of needs and wants. Turkey too, make sure the eat that first. By the by good to see you too, I think you know Happy Harry. He’s still an angel, working out of Glad Tidings now.”

Harry also smiled at Flo and held his right hand up with the thumb pointing left. “Good to see you again, how are Abel and the boys? How’s the camp?”

Flo reached down, grazing the sidearm on her hip, gaining reassurance from its presence. “They’re scared, everybody is scared. Folks have a right to be, not everything you see on T.V. is a special effect. Camp is growing bigger too. That’s not a bad thing, it makes it easier to keep an eye on everyone with more folks in the jungle. The census is easier, and everyone gets a buddy. Attacks are up, things that used to be content hiding in the shadows are quickly changing their habits. We could use some extra hands shoring up shacks if you and your friends are done poking the bears.”

Harry nodded with understanding and empathy. “Roger that, its scary but the world has always been cutty. My take away is that there are people doing good and lookout for each other. The Contingent has saved lives, saved souls. They are making a difference by being brave. We can be brave too.” Harry looks at Virgil. “Whats the plan?”

Virgil pondered for a moment holding his trembling right hand to his face. “There’s a darkness crawling its way into all of us. I know I helped it crack the door just hair. If it wasn’t for the contingent, the world would’ve fallen into the sky on the spot or worse. Wheels are in motion”.

Virgil’s hand gets more steady. “Tell everyone when it comes, that’s a train we all need to hop on. Listen for the whistle, and when the call comes out to help, do your share. The plan is to get everyone to focus on the door, and get it closed. I say take it a step further. I’ve been thinking a lot about souls. The making of a hobo. Boogeymen are real. Angels and Demons are real and with that all gunk in between. The trespassing darkness is part of them. Closing the door isn’t enough. We need to make sure it never comes back by making the collective bindle of humanity uninhabitable by things that don’t belong there. Demons and Angels got no soul. Their existence is defined by their purpose to God, Gods, or the Line. They either accept or reject it but that’s all they can ever be. We define ourselves, what we could be. What we could be five minutes ago, doesn’t have to define what we can be five minutes from now. When the call comes hold on to what you love about the world. The people, the music, the food, funny critters, camp fires, moonshine, and ducks on the pond. When something nasty sticks its head out, take your shovel, or your wrench, or your tire iron and beat it down. If some dandy makes you think you were bargained. Make a fist as tight as you can, the way that feels is you belonging to you. If a black mountain rises up and eats the stars cast your eyes on the eastern sky and yell at the sun. I’ve got to much to love to to love today so rise up already rise up.” Virgil looked down feeling something wet and cold wash over his boots.

The yard was quickly becoming flooded with milk. Virgil and Harry both looked at a leaking milk car on the train parked a few feet away. Something had bored a hole making a source for the pasteurized waves.

Sharp claws ripped into Harry, who collapsed under the burning pain. Virgil grabbed a discarded e-clip setter, swinging it hard at the creature’s head. “Get off my friend”. The creature reared up, enraged by the blow. Virgil’s sanity tried to defend itself by compartmentalizing its features. “Looks kinda like a salamander, check, 8 feet tall but there a rules about salamanders. Claws like a tiger, still not a lamb, check. Horns coming from a diamond shaped mouth, that’s just weird?”

Chit Chit Boom! Plop, Splash.

Flo’s gun thundered once. The creature was now face down in a mix of blood and milk. She cocked the hammer of the revolver. “Harry, you okay?”

Harry winced and grabbed the next box off the truck. “Just fine Flo, now I remember why I don’t drink Bakersfield.”

Flo addressed Virgil. “Camp to camp, hostel to jungle we are waiting for the call. Tell the Contingent when they need help we are ready to answer the call.”

Virgil answered back “thank you”. They trio exchanged solemn glances.

Sirens began sounding in the distance.

Flo started up the steam pump on the velocipede and lowered her goggles. “Boys try not to die, we need help putting up shingles next week”.

Most of the supplies loaded the rail-car carted off.

Virgil lowered his hat. “Any ideas about what to say to the bulls?

Harry put his hand on his torn side, and replied “I find leading with I might not sue if, often gets the conversation to a happy place pretty quickly”.

Static briefly fills the airwaves. Radios go silent. Televisions blink. Computers lag. All at once, the silence stops as audio and video come to life, showing a young man dressed in a black t-shirt, grey jacket laid across his lap, and dark blue jeans, sitting on the edge of a couch, a glass of whiskey and ice sits on a coffee table, just at the edge of the frame.

He leans slightly forward and clasps his hands in front of himself loosely. Calmly, but firmly, he speaks

“Good morning. My name is Darren Knox. And this is the most important message you will hear, ever.

I am a member and a representative of a group that calls itself “The Contingent”. Some of you have heard of of us. Most of you have not. Those that have have likely been seen as conspiracy theorists. Well today is the day that you find out that it was no conspiracy. We are real. We are here. Today, you will all know us more than we ever intended or than you ever expected.

For those of you that have not heard of us before, I will give you a little background on the world you live in and then what we at the Contingent do to protect you from that world.

First, we humans are not alone in this world. As Adrian Skaar has made you all aware, you have shared a world with supernatural creatures for as long as humans have walked the earth. Most of them are willing to coexist with humanity. Many live their lives just like all of you. They may be your friends, neighbors, family. However, there are those that have been unwilling to coexist and have sought to do damage to humanity. They are the reason that groups like ours exist. It is our mission to protect humanity, as best we can, from these threats.

This was best done in secret. Until now.

Let me be perfectly clear. This is not a call to arms against them. Please do not take it as such. Your likelihood of being negatively impacted by these beings is no greater now than it was yesterday, or a year ago, or a decade ago. However, a threat has emerged that is stronger than all of your armies and it cannot be solved with a bullet. This threat does not seek to take your lives. It does not seek to take your freedom. It seeks to take your consciousness, your very existence. We will not let this happen."

Darren takes a brief pause, clearly trying to steel his emotions.

“My parents, Jeremy and Caroline Knox were part of this group as well. They gave their lives to protect humanity, to protect me, to protect you.”

His voice cracks before pausing again to collect himself.

“They never told me what they did, or who they worked with, or what they fought against. But now that I am a part of The Contingent, I know. I have seen the horrors that lie in wait. I have also seen the beauty of what can happen when we are of one mindset and one goal.”

Darren takes a deep breath before continuing.

“So again, this is not a call to arms. We do not ask for you to join us on the field of battle. We do not ask that you give your lives. We do not ask that you take on the burdens that we have taken on. We ask that you, all of you, as one collective consciousness, is to simply have hope. So take a moment to, from time to time, hope.”

His voice softens.,

“Hope for the good in the world to prevail. Pray. Pray for your loved ones. Meditate. Meditate on your mere existence and instill your belief in yourself and the world around you. Believe. Believe in your fellow man. Love, passionately. Whatever your method may be, we need you to focus that energy toward the things that are most important to you.”

“This is not a call to arms because we need everyone. We need every being to help us. If you can dream; if you can hope; if you can care, then you can help.” Darren pleads.

Darren clinches his hands tighter and closes his eyes for a moment, a look of concern on his face, before continuing in an almost rallying tone.

“We cannot ask you to fight. We will not ask you to fight. We will fight for you. We will fight for all of humanity. We will throw our bodies and minds, again and again, against the steel of the abyss. Some of us will die. Some of us will suffer far worse. But we will fight, and we will not stop until we have vanquished this threat.”

“I have seen what the hope of a small group, numbering maybe a hundred strong, who just want to make the world safe for humanity, can do. With you, we are seven billion strong. With you, we are the unstoppable force and the immovable object. With you, we are victorious.”

Darrens voice softens again.

“So today, tomorrow, and every day going forward, we need you to know that we are fighting for you.

Together, we can achieve unimaginable greatness.

Take care of yourselves, and we will do the same.

Thank you. Thank you so much."

Darren reaches forward and turns off the camera, the audio clicking back to silence. After a few moments, you are returned to your regularly scheduled programming.

Well, first we’ve got a couple of mages, Whim and Forrest. They can be confusing as hell when you try to talk to them, but they’re honest allies.

Whim is the one I’ve known the longest; she’s one of the kids that got taken and fucked up by Project Chimera, so now she’s got the ability to alter Fate. She’s always been a friend to me, and she’s helped us find out needed information on what the bad guys are doing, but she’s pretty ruthless in her methods. She’s not that choosy about damaging people to achieve her ends. At the same time, when we almost lost Claire to the soul machine, she sensed our attempts to anchor ourselves and gave crucial help. She can help us leverage the odds more to our favor, solidify our senses of destiny. Seems pretty important right now, you know?

Forrest …have you met him? He’s a trip, literally. That flaming interdimensional rock that put us in the astral plane was something he picked up while he was wandering through…places. He’s a mage of mind and space, and has been working with the Empire for longer than he realizes. So, kind of like me. That last part. I don’t usually help people transcend planar boundaries. He smells like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I try not to take deep breaths around him in case I end up in another dimension, to be honest. Really nice guy, good-hearted, wants to do the right thing. Also spaced out from all those drugs, and I’m saying that.

Those are all the mages I know. Both would be super helpful to work with. Problem is, I have no idea how to contact them. Maybe Empire Foundation has a way of reaching Forrest, but Whim comes and goes like her name.

Other Humans:

I don’t know her, but some of the Contingent folks mentioned a woman in New Orleans named Maman Minerva. She’s a member of the Contingent who’s also is a voodoo priestess with some connections to deeper powers. That’s about all I know.. Maybe she could help dealing with the vampires, though, or has insight into the afterlife that can help us deal with what’s coming crashing toward us right now.

So, like I said, Jackson Carver is a giant Sluagh eagle right now and is aware of the heaven.exe trap he had been locked into. I have no idea what to do with that info, but it’s a thing we should be aware of.

The Zookeeper is Proof that humans can be monsters. He’s the psycho collector of supernatural beings out on the west coast. He likes to enslave them and force them, and any nosy humans, to fight for rich assholes in a gladiator style arena. He’s extended his life for hundreds of years somehow, maybe through his buddies The Patron, has a private army, and has some deep connections to dark things. He likes to be amused, much to the suffering of others.

So she’s not technically human, but she’s a good person and her situation isn’t her fault. Lily is a sophisticated AI humanoid who was created as a sex-bot. She’s a friend to the Contingent and very powerful, both physically and in her empathic abilities. She can manipulate minds, so that’s a thing I’m not comfortable with, but I think she’d only do it to help us. Still, being near her drives people crazy and she’s powered by that same strange radiation from beyond Pluto.

Susan Rourke I know, though. She’s uh…she’s…well, let’s see. She’s the Queen of the Hill Valley Faeries, psychic, a little crazy. She likes us a lot, though, since we helped her fulfill her family’s legacy pact with the fae, and she definitely works outside of the box. That can make things a little tricky though, when she goes firing off to deal with things “her way.” She’s inherited magic, but isn’t the most reliable in some ways. When we found her she’d been manipulated and brainwashed into almost killing herself and poisoning everyone in the area, but only with the best intentions. She’s doing much better now, I’ve heard, since she got out of the coma.

Speaking of Fae..

Fae

So…there’s the Dullahan …wait, no, hear me out. She’s theoretically on our side now, or at least she’d devoted to protecting similar things at this point, and she’s true to her nature. Just…yeah, she makes Whim look moderate. Extremely powerful with an intense hatred of the Patron, she directly handles the dead. Again, that would be really helpful with what’s coming, you know? She also has the Sluagh, those psychopomp birds that can cloud the mind and target her victims. Not to mention Tom Scarlet, as scary as fuck Redcap with a really nasty axe and is dedicated to her cause. Downsides: yeah, she’s Unseelie, terrifying, has a whip made out of a spinal cord, and will act according to her nature, even if it doesn’t work out too well for us. As in, she’s ok with murdering people to protect the land and accomplish her mission to protect the land. She’s about as inhuman as you can get, so nothing can be assumed as far as what she’d consider normal and reasonable.

On a slightly less dangerous side, there’s Granger’s ladyfriend, Leanna. Sweet-as-anything Seelie Forrest Nymph. Just don’t, whatever you do, do not flirt with Granger. So, try to control yourself, Wayne. She’s friends with the werewolves out at The Farm, she’s all about protecting nature, and she’s down with the Contingent. She’s the reason we have a portal between the garage in Hill Valley and the Farm in Colorado, so we should definitely talk to her about tapping into those types of fae-human world anchor points. Or maybe Granger should.

Leanna hangs out with another important set of players here. The Werewolves of Colorado dance that line between fae and human, powerful with spiritual magic. Also, they’re a pack of big fucking werewolves. So just powerful all around. And friends with the Contingent. Ed is with them, and I trust Ed even if I don’t know the rest of the pack that well. There’s a potential downside, though. They’re a pack of big fucking werewolves who can go berserk if pushed to their limits and kill everyone/thing near them. They have duties to older forces of the world, though hopefully that will align with what The Contingent is trying to do right now.
Also hanging out with the werewolves is someone I haven’t seen in a long time: The Sphinx! She was a captive of The Zookeeper that we rescued a while back, so she owes us a favor. She’s got ancient powers and knowledge of the mysteries of the world. Also, she’s lioneish. Lionesque. Lion-like. She’s got leonine abilities. I like her a lot. But she does like to eat people.

Speaking of the world’s mysteries:

The Undead:

I don’t have a lot of love for vampires of any type, especially after Vampire Jack, but if there was any group that we might be able to work with, it’s the Boo Hags of South Carolina. They’re scary looking as fuck…basically like someone skinned them alive, and they do feed on people. They don’t necessarily like it, though, like many other vampires, but they’ll do it if it’s inconvenient not to. They are part of African-American southern history and have a great hatred for white slavers like the Carfaxes. One helped us get into the Carfax mansion, past all its defenses, so they’re good at disappearing and keeping people hidden. They’re strong and they have some sense of community. Probably the most likely to be willing to work with us and give us more insight in dealing with the dangers coming to us re: the underworld. Still, shady as hell. No pun intended. Well…no. Not intended.

So yeah, the Carfaxes. Main vampire clan in South Carolina. FUCKTHEM. Patriarch Alexander Carfax is an undead piece of shit that not only contributed to centuries of slavery, lynchings, and Jim Crow oppression to keep a convenient feeder population of victims, he tried to syphon powers from the soul cache at the dam in Hill Valley to bolster his own abilities and “storm heaven while the angels were away and take God’s place.” He directly worked with The Patron. He’s got no problem with destroying the sun, shock and surprise, but he doesn’t want to get caught in the mess that’s coming, either. He’s a nasty shapeshifter, can do blood magic, and has deep political and economic connections. We may have to factor him in, even if we don’t want to. Also has a love of music. Asshole played the harpsichord and monologued at us when we thought we’d had caught him unawares. He’d mesmerized us just so he could posture at us like a douchebag. Kept his heart in the harpsichord and ripped off his own hands so they could keep playing while he was kicking our asses. Probably doesn’t love us much after we fucked up his heart with an explosive, though. Bombs seem to fix a lot of things. Huh.

This last one I haven’t met yet, but some other members mentioned Diana Bettincourt: the Vampire Queen of New Orleans. From what I hear, she’s got minions both in that city and Baltimore and has some pretty strong political connections. She hunts other vampires, not sure why, and likes to talk. She was a part of Project Chimera and associated with the Patron. She put out the drug that had the Patron’s nanytes in it…you know, the one that gave people tha three-eyed symbol. I got that shit branded onto a rib bone after breathing in some weird mold recently. She’s also a manipulative fucking vampire.

T: “It’s sort of a multi-step thing. Kind of complicated and I forget the moving parts sometimes, but it’s basically this:

“These beings that want to crash our world with underworld, releasing all those souls through this door they created in the collective consciousness. These assholes who are trying to use us for their vengeance and power mongering while claiming it’s for our own good. They consider themselves superior to humans, using us – our souls, our minds - as batteries, tools, whatever, while believing that we in our inherent inferiority aren’t going to be able to do anything about it. But they made a huge mistake. They showed us that we have enormous capacity for power and – I think, at least - protection.

“So we’d be using everything that makes humans, well, human, that angels and demons don’t have or value like we do. Free will, love, adaptation, community, the ability to come together and become more than what we’d be alone. They used us, but they showed us how much power we truly have, and we can turn that against them like they wouldn’t believe. We also have our innovation and resourcefulness. We’re hunters because we can come up with things like ethereal rounds and fae bombs. Our ability to craft what we need to deal with the world is one of our great strengths. We are our own resource, and we should have the ability to tap into ourselves to defend our home, with a few key differences. First, we only take willing outpourings, and second, we can work alongside others, all as equals.”

W: “Ok…what do you mean by others?”

T: “Other beings. The fae, the werewolves, maybe some vampires. Beings that may have a reason to love this world, or at least not want to see it get overloaded and crashed like this.”

W: “Vampires? Seriously, Taz? What the he…”

T: “I know, but there are some that…they have reason to be who they are, and they have some sort of moral code. Look, we need to just look at all the possibilities and work from there. We’ve been learning about these beings and their motives for a long time. At the least, it’s good to know who to look out for. I’ll never work alongside the Carfaxes if I can help it, but I want people to know who they are in case they decide to step in as players again.”

W: “Ok, hit me.”

T: “No, not just yet. I need to try to talk this out of my head. This plan. These plans. They’re already in motion with Dr. Skaar’s announcement and news of Ed resurfacing, spreading the word. They and Gina have their own work cut out for them, though, so this part is on us, cuz they’re doing. . . ”

W: “Taz, focus! What is it?”

T: “Thanks, Wayne. It’s just been…it’s been something. Ok. What if we took willing expressions of collective consciousness that exist throughout the world and used it to power some kind of global protection against that opening door? I mean, we’re working toward that already with the global effort to let people know about The Contingent and how we’re trying to save the world. So we’re hopefully going to have a freaking ton of people focusing on our band to give us a boost against the Patrons. But that’s not gonna get everyone involved, and I’d bet that there’s gonna be more than a little fear mixed in with the hope. We need to diversify, Wayne.

“So, add to all that Buddhist monks seeking compassion and healing for the world; nuns in convents praying for the sick, dying, and alone that have nobody else; or fuck, anyone who’s praying, meditating, or consciously working toward the protection, healing, and well-being of others. They’re sending out massive amounts of energy into the world through those actions, and if we can focus it into a true protective barrier against this attack, we could anchor life and the land the way we anchored ourselves in Hill Valley to save Claire’s astral projection of her soul…sorry, what? Oh, she’s a reporter that joined the Contingent recently – from getting pulled into the machinery of the dam.

“Uh, yeah…the machinery is a long story. Basically, it stripped souls that were bound to the land of their very natures, and then stored the blanks. It was all sorts of fucked up, trust me. By the way, the soul of Jackson Carver is a giant Sluagh now. Just a head’s up in case you see an angry spirit eagle around.”

“What was I talking about? Anyway, it will be in line with what these people are fighting for, too, whether they’re consciously aware of it or not. It’s the anti-Patron lens. We also have a priest that’s been through hell with us who might also be able to help rally spiritual leaders in some way.

W: “So how do we do this?

T: “Not alone, and not through brutality. No, it’s got to be through connection and common ground between beings. Many of the fae and the werewolves have a love for both their world and this land, even if they are at odds with us in other ways. They have anchors and connections all over the world. The werewolves can help as liaisons between humanity and fae, able to channel that consciousness through the links between realms to create that protective barrier all over the world. You’ve got high influence with the Union, so you’d know better than I who or what the possibilities are with them. The hobo network may also be able to help with this linking, as many of them are able to hop barriers and spread throughout the land through unconventional paths.

“Vampires are trickier, because most of the ones we know have no love for humanity or anything other than their own power and advancement. But, there are the Boo Hags. Not exactly good guys, but they would definitely have an issue with supposed superior beings using and throwing away ’lesser people‘ with their grand plans. I know that The Patron’s drug in New Orleans did some serious damage to the vampire community down there, too, from what I heard. Maybe they’d be onboard with helping us. In any case, creatures like that straddle the line between life and death already. They may be able to help in some way.”

W: “So, we’re using the powers of our minds to protect the world? Through what type of focus?”

T: “Right now, we’re looking at two major things: like I said, the fae-connections between this world and theirs, as pathways to channel the energy all over the world, and to bounce it off one of Empire’s satellites, maybe more. One of them I was working on to detect the people whose souls were still tied to bodies that should’ve died in Hill Valley after we shut down that dam machinery. I did a couple things with the hedge thorn to it, so it may have some connection to the fae anchor points. Or it could crash the fae plane into ours, or something.”

W: “…”

T: “I don’t think that’ll happen. But, I mean, if we have to have a world try to occupy ours at the same time, would you prefer fae or afterlife?”

W: “Let’s just…I’m not even going to answer that question, Taz.”

T: “Huh? Oh, ok. It might be interesting to have unicorns running around. I may have drawn up some mech-armor specs…”

W: “Spearing people to death with their horns?”

T: “…”

W: “Taz.”

T: “Yeah, ok, not the best idea. So here’s the next part. We’ve got the global mind creating that layer of protection, right? We can also use the power of our global heart to take action: push back against that door and lock it, then take or destroy the key.”

W: “Ok, so how’s this part going down? Have you found a global heart in your wanderings?”

T: “No, I don’t think so. Not this time.”

W: “I’m just going to let that one go for now.”

T: “What, did I say something? Huh. Anyway, Yeah, we have a global heart in a way: music. We have music all over the world. Every musician playing from their heart to add beauty to the world; every wedding celebration of love; and every moment where people use rhythm and melody to celebrate what makes us cherish our world; that’s our power. We use that to drive the door shut against the Underworld.”

W: “We throw music at it? Just play a happy song and make everything right? Have you been smoking something?”

T: “Yes. Well, I mean, technically, it was ingesting an extra-planar living rock that was on fire at the time. Which brings me to Forrest.”

W: “Ok…”

T: “So music is fundamentally just a vibration with soul. A tuning fork has the ability to turn vibration into a more focused, purer wave of power. We need to be able to take that force into the astral plane and turn it into something pure and powerful enough to push that door closed. Once the door is closed, we need to be able to either remove or destroy the key in the door, but let’s put a pin in that right now. Two things I can think of that are far reaching, associated with spiritual/astral planes, and respond to vibrations are crystals and water. Seems like the places we’re going to be to make our stands – San Francisco, New Orleans, and DC – are all near a major source of water. There are also several caverns with crystal formations, not as nearby, but close to each site.

“So two possibilities: using some crystal or crystals naturally existing in the earth as a cosmic tuning fork, sending a strong enough vibration to slam the door shut, or energizing water to do something similar. Most caverns are connected to water, so if we wanted to use underground crystals as that link between the expression of music and rhythm and the water itself, that could work, too. I have a very strong feeling that Forrest is into surfing planar vibrations on multiple levels. If our oceans and waterways could be used to channel these vibrations, similar to how the thoughts of people are going to be channeled through the anchor points, it’s possible that Forrest and other supernatural beings help take the energy simultaneously being created in the astral plane and basically launch it toward the door? Sort of like a massive astral waterspout that totally doesn’t sound super crazy, thank you very much. This would also involve Whim working to keep probabilities aligned to prevent us doing horrific damage. And we’d have the barrier we’d previously created to help mitigate damage, anyway.

“Now, the last thing: the key. Thanks to this guy Jack’s awesome parkour, we have half of it. What I’m going to suggest is way outside my wheelhouse, but I think I have the basic ideas down. We need to get some of our best scientists and occultists, maybe crafters, too, to study its properties. One idea that an electron or atom can be in two places at once, so what affects it in one place will affect it in the other. I have no idea if or how that’s true, but I have a feeling mages and dreamtime people can step in with their ideas. The other thought is the medieval concept of sympathetic magic, or even weapon-salves, which involve the belief that treating the weapon can cure the wound. I’m basically wondering if there’s a way to control or destroy the part of the key in the lock through the half that we have. It obviously has to have more going on with it than its physical form. But that’s as far as I’ve gotten.

“Another possibility would be to “magnetize” it in some metaphysical way that it pulls the other one out and back to the half we’ve got, but I’m not a fan of this because of the risk of ours actually getting pulled to the half in the door,instead, if we fail. We might be able to create a type of astral magnet that doesn’t involve our part of the key, if we can get enough info about it, though.”

W: “Sweet Jesus, Taz. This is a lot to take in.”

T: “I know. And there are a lot of gaps in my mem…in my knowledge that, if we do this, we’re going to have to work together to fill out. But that’s where I’m not as worried. We have our innovation and resourcefulness. We’re hunters because we can come up with things like ethereal rounds and fae bombs. We can come up, between all of us, with what we need. I don’t have any doubt of that. If you’re ok with it, I’m going to share this recording on a safe channel with the rest of the Contingent”

W: “No problem. You know, you sound different. Is something going on with you?”

T: “I’m more focused than I’ve been in a long time, Wayne. But yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m still me.”

Found along NYC/Raleigh/New Orleans routes

Dozens seen on bulletin boards in migrant services centers, translated from Spanish:

Brothers and sisters, keep your eyes open, because dark times are coming. The stories and legends of our childhoods are rising up and we are caught in the middle. Some are friendly, some are not. Do your best to learn: ally yourselves with those who work alongside humanity to defend us all from those who wish harm to humanity and its allies. Your brothers and sisters in the Contingent stand with you; we are your teachers, your mail carriers, your trash collectors, your police, your doctors, and more. Learn, prepare yourselves, and don’t stand alone. We are here and we are with you.

Dozens seen on bulletin boards in county jails, bail bondsman offices, and county courthouse holding rooms:

Boys and girls, you’ve seen things moving in the shadows, skittering in alleys, melting into the cracks in the pavement. Things that don’t make sense, things that just can’t exist. You’re not wrong; they’re there. They’re real. Some of them are friendly, some of them aren’t. It’s time for you to learn the difference…because real soon, it could mean life or death. Time’s tickin’ away, kids. And not just because the cops caught you this time. The Contingent exists for times like these, and we are with you. Don’t face the darkness alone. Be informed, be ready, know who your friends are. Might be surprised at who turns out to have your back.

One envelope, addressed to Fr. Balfour and taped to a confessional at the Basilica of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, Atlanta, GA:

Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It’s been a long time since my last confession. So long, I can’t remember when the last one was. A lot has happened since then. Some of it, I won’t confess because I don’t believe it could ever be a sin, regardless of what the Church teaches. But the rest…oh, Father, the rest. I’ve caused physical harm countless times, in defense of myself and others. I don’t think I’ve ever actually killed a person, but I’ve certainly had the chance to stop others and not done so, which is the same, I suppose. I’ve stolen. Cars, weapons, stuff. I’ve taken the Lord’s name in vain more often than I’ve spoken my own. And we won’t even try to sum up the individual counts of fornication. Really, let’s not.

I drugged my girl and left her in the back seat of the car while our friends and I did a job. For her safety, and ours. It was a shitty thing to do, but it was safer for everybody. It really was. She was freaking out, and she would have given us all away. Doesn’t mean I felt good about it.

Also, I’m questioning the nature of God these days. Hard. I’ve seen the Angels, Father, and the Demons, too. The wheels of eyes, and haloes of fire, and wings of blades: they’re real, and they treat us like pawns in their power games. I can’t allow myself to believe that the God I was taught about as a girl would allow that. Was that God a lie?

Anyway, Father, I’ve got a lot to atone for, and probably not a lot of time left in which to atone for it. So any prayers you could offer for me are appreciated. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here on the right day to do this in person. I’ll just keep praying as I do, and hope to find atonement through action.

The end might be coming sooner than you think, Father. Be careful who you pray to, and for what. Open your eyes to what’s going on in the world. We’re almost out of time.

The high tinny sound of old country music filled the dingy bar. No one seemed to pay much attention to the aging jukebox in the corner, minus the drunk next to it humming along to whichever song of heartbreak and loneliness it played. Above it stood the Union emblem burned into wooden planks, covered nearly entirely in photos of those lost to the vigil.

The rest of the bar’s patrons certainly were of a type: roughneck. These were men and women who made a living by sweat and pain; the sorts that built this great nation and were generally invisible to the rest of it.

A man and woman stood behind the wraparound bar in the center of the room, clearly related. They moved with easy comfort from years of the trade, a well-orchestrated system of bottles, glasses, and just the right word or look at the right time to help those not lost in their cups. Above them hung a series of party lights from the back-stock cabinetry, burned out long ago.

A welcoming smell of grilled food floated in the air, barely covering the smell of cigarette smoke outlawed years ago. It was late afternoon; neon light from the sign outside declaring “Johnnie and Connie’s” floated in between the old wooden blinds with the sun’s dying rays.

The sound of wood creaking and cracking cut through the music as the door to the bar shifted in the frame, the light of the East Texas sun through the small window in the door going dark as small thorny vines crept around the frame. With a sound like a splintering frame, the door opened the wrong direction, revealing a narrow path through an overgrown forest, and a wall of a man with strongly Nordic features and blond hair pulled into a ponytail. The room fell silent as Dain’s penetrating eyes swept from side to side, looking for threats. ‘Predator’ radiated from him, and no one dared to move.

“Room’s clear,” he called out, stepping out of the doorway and to the left. Several of the burned-out bulbs in the party lights flared red as he entered the room.

Ed’s appearance broke the spell of silence. Suddenly the room filled with whispers and mumblings, shock and disbelief on many of their faces. “Holy shit, it’s you,” exclaimed Johnnie. “We heard rumors you were out of the game.”

Leanna closed the door gently, patting it like an old friend as the vine retreated from around the door and the sun began to shine through the window once more. Dain and Victoria stalked through the room, closing blinds and peering out at the cars in the lot.

“I thought so too,” Ed replied, taking Johnnie’s extended hand in a warm handshake. “But you saw Skaar on TV. You know he’s telling the truth. You can feel it. Something bad is on the horizon and we can’t wait for it to get here.”

Connie sat down the glass he’d been cleaning. “So what do we do? I mean, that sounds great on a billboard, but what do we actually do?”

“I know what we do!” came the drunken exclamation from someone at the bar. “We pop us some freaks! Don’t matter which ones, fangers, furries, dandelion eaters, whatever. Plug ’em all and let God sort it out.”

A low growl, more felt than heard, rumbled from Dain. Ed, hackles raised, pinned Dain in place with a glance that said Let me handle this.

“And just what good do you think will come from fighting each other?” Ed thundered in reply. “You think they’re not just as fucked as you are if this goes down? No one wins, everyone loses. That’s what happens if we all start fighting each other. This is not our way!”

Ed slammed his hand on the bar to punctuate his point. Mumbles of agreement spread throughout the bar. Running his hand through his hair, Ed composed himself. It would be so easy to let the anger win, Ed thought. Always right there, just under the surface…

Ed pulled a brown folder from his jacket pocket and dropped it on the bar. “This is a list of Gestalt sites in the region.” he said, jabbing his finger onto the folder. “They’re in the thick of whatever’s going on and we need to shut them down. Show everyone that we can make a difference. Right now, there’s a lot of fear out there and not much hope. It’s time to change that.”

Victoria had paid little attention to the room’s antics, regularly peeking through the blinds into the parking lot. Something caught her attention. “Ed, we have to leave — now,” she said, forceful and stern.

Ed sighed. “There is never enough time. I’m sorry for what comes next,” he said.

Dain placed a hand on Ed’s shoulder and steered him back towards the entrance, barking a command behind him. “Leanna, the door.”

She nodded before kneeling down and whispering into the lock. Standing, she pushed it open the wrong way with the sound of cracking wood, revealing a moon-lit pasture choked with nettles instead of the sunny parking lot. Victoria was the first through, rifle at the ready, followed quickly by Dain and Ed. Leanna gave the room a wide smile. “You can do this—I just know you can,” she said, pushing the door shut.

Moments later, the same door swung inward, hitting the bell at the threshold. The bell’s tone seemed to break the moment, bring things back to the now. In came a trio of men, clearly not the type to spend their time in out-of-the-way dive bars. Everything about them screamed “cop”, from the mirrored shades to the arrogant swagger in their walk. The leader walked directly to bar while the others fanned out throughout the room. “We’re looking for someone,” he announced, pulling a photo from his breast-pocket. “Ed McLaughlin. Answer all of our questions and there won’t be any trouble.”

Johnnie glanced just above the newcomer at the string of party lights now burning bright blue. Other bulbs came to life as the other two men neared the bar. To one side, Connie reached between the ice chest and liquor rail to pull a sawed-off shotgun from its holster.

“Lock the doors,” Johnnie called out to his patrons, then turned to address the newcomers directly. “You boys just found a whole heap of trouble.”

As various primetime television channels fade to commercial, the first ad opens up on Dr. Skaar leaning against his desk. The classic oak furniture and masculine earth tones of his decor give a warm, comfortable feel to his office. Off to the side, something that is just out of focus is thrashing in a cage. Skaar looks at the camera and gives a small smile before he starts speaking.

“Good evening, or whatever time it is when you’re watching this on YouTube. As you are no doubt aware, I am Dr. Skaar. Several years ago, I founded the Empire Foundation on three simple ideals: pursuit of pure science unfettered by orthodoxy, ethical transparency, and the protection of humanity.

“You have no doubt heard some pretty wild rumors recently. Even more, you feel something. Something ineffable has changed. It’s like you just noticed a door in your house for the first time that you never knew was there, and something on the other side is jiggling the handle. I am here to tell you that it’s real. All of it. There are monsters. They are amongst us, hidden in plain sight. They are our allies, friends, and lovers—some of them helping us throughout the centuries. However, there are many more who view us as nothing more than a lunchable.”

Skaar stands up and walks toward the cage. As he does so the camera pans in on some sort of four legged creature inside. Hard to rationalize, later people would describe it as looking like a hairless grizzly bear, rough grey skin stretched across muscle and bulk. There are too many teeth in a jaw that stretches far too long. Fire licks its nostrils when it exhales. As the CEO approaches, it appraises him with pale blue eyes. They’re almost human looking.

“Over here, we have what is colloquially known as a hellhound.”

The animal growls; small spines can be seen rising from its pallid skin. The two stare each other down for a beat before Skaar continues.

“Ordinarily, the quantum flux of such a creature renders it invisible to the naked eye. Empire Foundation technology has made it possible to see such an abomination.”

Skaar absently taps the cage, causing the beast to lunge, impotently snapping at its containment. With a small sigh, Skaar looks back at the camera.

“This is not why I’m here, though. There is an imminent attack that threatens the lives of millions of us. I am working with a group, the Contingent, to stop it, but we need everyone’s help. To that end, I am publishing online everything we have. Names will be redacted, but all the notes, all the research, all the proof, will be there. Worse, evidence of our government’s collusion is in there. Read about Task Force Valkyrie, Ashford Abbey, and Thurisaz Ventures, and hold your leaders accountable. Gaze at the tangled web that is Gestalt and their many subsidiaries, then clear your medicine cabinet and pantry of their wide influence.

“The Empire Foundation will temporarily offer live tours of our facilities, organized by my assistant Ms. Whitehall. Come to our labs and see the supernatural with your own eyes.

How To Save The Entire Damn World...

I and a few others have been thinking quite a bit about how to un-fuck the world after what happened during our last set of missions to stop the Patron(s).

Not everything about the mission was bad. Specifically, the Patrons showed us something that can most likely help fix all of this: There is a goddamned COLLECTIVECONSCIOUSNESS OF HUMANITY

This isn’t a hair brained theory any more. This isn’t some kooky spiritualist’s ramblings. This is a bonafide fact of the damn universe that everybody witnessed in The Triangle.

And it’s ours.

Not theirs.

So let’s use it.

This is seriously going to take a unified and coordinated effort by every Compact, Ally, Contact and Asset that the Contingent can bring to bare. All our skills. All our resources.

What we do is actually pretty simple. We craft a story about the Contingent. An amazing and epic story that uplifts the spirit and gives you hope when you read it. An amazing and diverse group of people coming together to stem the tide of darkness that threatens to overtake the world. We name names and spare no detail on descriptions of past exploits and greatness. We tell the stories of everyone that has fought and died with the Contingent for the betterment of humanity while everyone slept, oblivious to the unrelenting dangers that threaten our world on a daily basis.

We go public.

And we provide evidence. Years and years of collected and corroborating evidence. Other Hunter organizations can back us up if they want. We hack government databases and provide all the surveillance info we can. We build tech to boost the signal We use every member’s connections and allies to back it all up and help spread the story. We reignite the “Secret Frequency” as the “Overt Frequency” using the satellite the Empire Foundation recently put into orbit and whatever other networks we can hack and use. Bring the dark net into the light. Make this modern epic go viral like nothing has before.

We need all of our available agents and assets to travel to the parts of the world that aren’t connected electronically. They’ve got a month. They can do it. Spreading the story of the Contingent to anyone who will listen. Every corner of the world will know what we’ve tried to keep in the shadows for years.

The story spreads like a virus through music and stories and memes and YouTube and 24 hour news coverage and whatever other vector humanity can think of. A month in the modern world is a damn eternity.

But here’s the kicker. The crux of it all. We have to drive home the fact that in the near future the Contingent will need everyone. And by everyone I mean every single person living on this planet. Men, women, children, Mages, Werewolves, Changelings…whatever. Everyone. They’ll need everyone to think of the names of the members of the contingent and lend them their strength through sheer force of will so that they can save the world one more time. Stop saying “Our thoughts and prayers are with you” and let’s actually do it.

Over 7 billion people thinking at the same time about the same little band of people trying to do good and wishing they would save them one more time when the world is faced with annihilation. 7 billion people focusing their collective consciousness on the Contingent…

And then we save the damn world.

Because I honestly cannot think of a more appropriate way to stop the end of existence than bringing all of humanity into it and putting a stop to all the shadow game bull shit.

The Death of Richard Miller, Part II

An older reflection of John appeared upon the screen. Tired rings weighed down his eyes, and his hesitance was plain in his expression. John wasn’t sure if it was the constant traveling or the years in academia that gave him the small shocks of white hair that peppered his beard, but they were certainly new. It’s been over eight years since he last saw Richard, and news of his death still hasn’t quiet settled in. John glanced over the instructions once more; Richard had left instructions to only play the video over the camcorder it was recorded from. A large stack of papers came with it all, all neatly written and detailing a bunch of hoodoo he knew nothing about. Blackstar? The Patron? Keys and Towers? Granted, he knew his brother was a history buff, but this was reading less like a thesis and more like one of those spooky SCP story entries that people write for fun. Or because they were crazy.

John huffed, thumbing the play button.

Greetings John. If you’re listening to this, then it’s likely because I have died one way or another. The how shouldn’t concern you, because quite frankly, there is a lot for you to catch up on, and it’s rather overwhelming, even for myself.

John pinched the bridge of his nose. Seemed like Richard didn’t change much. Asshole…

I wouldn’t normally consider this, but given my current situation, I found it prudent to ensure that whatever I’ve researched, found, or gathered be readily accessible to The Contingent in the event of my demise or if I am compromised.

The Contingent? John canted his head, as he listened to his brother ramble about who they were.

Speaking of which, what is shared here is between you and I. Samantha and Rhys don’t need to catch wind of this. I’d say Rhys was the more responsible brother, but he can barely hold a gun. At least you look like you could handle yourself. You just need to make sure that you keep them safe, keep them uninvolved with whatever these things have in plan for us. I’ve left a few locations listed somewhere that you can drag them off to, hopefully they may workout as a place to hide out, but time will tell, I suppose.

John was already finding it all to be a bit much to take in.

If you decide to get in contact with the Contingent, my first suggestion; don’t trust anyone. Any one of them could be marked like myself. The chances that the enemy has people inside are rather high. If you DO follow up on all this, talk to Virgil, or Eva. You might be able to get a hold of one of them by talking to the proprietor of the Alibi, down in New Orleans. That might be your best lead, aside from digging through my phone if it is recovered. Just be sure it’s something you want to do before you dive in like you always do. You may not recall Six Flags, so let me add that you should be careful in New Orleans, and for God’s sake, try not to end up on a bus full of vampires again. I’m not around to dig you out of trouble a third time, so just be smart, alright?

John watched Richard’s tired face form a small smile.

We’re dysfunctional, but we’re still family. Be safe.

John blinked at the camcorder’s playback screen, still digesting what he had heard. He mumbled the only words he could muster to himself.

The Death of Richard Miller

Richard eyed Allie with uncertainty. Her sudden appearance in this hellish maze didn’t make sense, but he was quickly finding that hard to focus on. As Charles leveled his odd weapon at Allie, Richard found himself unable to focus on the conversation at hand. The occasional word of argument would make its way to his ears, drawing his attention briefly, but the door behind the woman raptly held his gaze.

Wayne held him from back, much to Richard’s ire. “Let me go, I am fine!” Richard’s hiss was cut short by the sting of otherworldly energy searing into his flesh. Wayne’s grasp faltered, and the hunter’s scrambled to react. Before them was the Patron is it’s true form, horrible and mechanical, a mess of eyes bearing vile intent. Or at least it seemed that way for a moment. For the briefest of moments, he thought he felt compassion, echoed by a warm voice urging him to the door; to safety.

He complied. The door was shelter from the impending doom, a safe haven from the coming troubles. He wasn’t sure how he knew this, but that didn’t matter. He knew he was right, everything he’s researched pointed to this. The before. This obviously lead to what was before.

“Zhī gi án dă kāi dè goānijàn,” he muttered, watching the chains fall away from the door. He glanced behind him, hesitating briefly as he observed the others. They were delaying the inevitable. He turned back to the door and reached forward, resting his hand upon the door and savoring this triumph of his. Just one step. One step and he’d know the truth. He hesitated once more.

In that moment, the Patron’s whirling form barreled through the door, nearly knocking the man over. Richard was flabbergasted. What had happened? The grasp of finger’s upon his jacket made him aware of the others once more and an alarming sense of dread set in. He cast a maddened glare over his shoulder, seeing who it was that would keep him from the door, his gateway to salvation.

“Let go! Get back!” he cried, slipping an arm free from a sleeve. They were going to get him killed! They would all die out here! Either by fate or luck, he tugged free of his assailant’s hold, lurching towards the door. No more hesitation, this was his chance. With an arm blindly held forward, he followed after the Patron into the doorway.

Almost instantly his mania snapped, leaving in it’s wake an empty void of dread. What did he do? This is all wrong! This isn’t salvation!

The Darkness Closes In

For not the first time in the last couple months, I again lie in a hospital bed wondering if I made the wrong choice in joining the Contingent. I got partially frozen on my last mission, with two demons possessing me and trying to come alive in me. This mission I was brought to consciousness after nearly bleeding out after an attack by someone who we thought was our friend, but turned out to be a Demon. I have grow closer to Grainger over the past month or so. He felt guilt about me taking his possession and it almost killing me. He has been helping me through the recovery and we get word that we are to have a mission in Chapel Hill, NC. He still seems to be having some problems with his guilt, I am trying to get him to let go of it, but it is deeply embedded. But, maybe I can convince him to give me his confession, if he can rid himself of this guilt and I can help, maybe it will lend some healing to both of us in our mutual attempts to battle our own guilty conscious. We combined with Taz, Jack, Virgil and Zac for this mission. I love these people, I worked with Virgil and Taz before and I cannot think of better people. Jack is an enigma. He was soulless from his last mission until…SHE…gave him a soul. How does one lose their soul? It is not even their’s to give and God would not relinquish control to another. What is going on? And then there is Zac…God bless him, Lord knows the college students sure did when we showed up at the Morehead Observatory. They acted like it was the second coming of Christ. He is not even a good actor, Antiquarium is one of the worst films I have ever seen. The amount of thought he puts into his films is equal to the amount of thought he puts into the rest of the events in his life, mainly none. His cavalier shoot first, ask questions later attitude nearly killed us this time. God love him, cause I am having some difficulties in that realm. None the less, his pretty face posed as a wonderful distraction at the observatory for me and the rest of the team to sneak into the back rooms. This is where we found…absolutely nothing, zip, zilch, nada. Except for the existence of some weird construction on the observatory itself. Allie came with us to “help.” Which of course was welcome at the time. But after we were zapped from the arcade called Baxter’s to some steam tunnels under the observatory, she showed who she really was. We had found ourselves in this tunnel which oddly enough had offices in it with lots of information concerning the construction on the observatory and other things. In addition we found a computer with the transcript of a conversation held between four entities, one of which turned out to be Allie. All four of which appeared to be Demons, and us having a traitor in our midsts. Cue Zac. While we attempted to talk to Allie and make heads or tails of this information, he shot an arrow at her. Then after she appeared to open a door to some weird place he shot an explosive arrow into the doorway. He hurt everyone, to say both were brash actions, might be an understatement. Allie or whatever her Hellspawn name is led us through this entryway, into what can only be described as maybe a pocket dimension. We were on a platform and in front and below us were ourselves with jacks and cords plugged into our heads, strapped to tables. Of course this is where we find what we were looking for and Allie says she has been keeping “us” until she can convince us of the validity of her actions. In a nutshell, destroy life on Earth by colliding it with the lives in Heaven and Hell at the same time and overloading God with everything that is going on. Thus destroying Him. Cue Zac once again… he shot some weird device we know nothing about out of Allie-Demon’s hands and it led to more pain for us. I feel a little deja vu coming on. Allie turned into some mass of eyeballs that shot lasers and tried to kill us. At this time, the weird lens siphoning energy from the contingent members with the 3 eye symbol on them in the distance seemed slightly less important. Did I also mention that it was sending this energy into the entire populace of the planet? Cause that is what it looked like. After that things got kinda nuts. Virgil sang some song into a Black Sun Diamond and called some Angel of Death down to help. Thats cool, but of course he came to kill everything, so were in the crosshairs as well. After some door opened, and a key appeared, Jack was able to break the key, by nearly sacrificing himself to the action. Zac saved him. I guess all that stunt work can be useful at times. Somehow Allie opened the door back out of the room, from which we dragged our other selves and escaped through the steam tunnels. When the consciousnesses converged from both existences of each person, some were unconscious and close to death. Yours truly amongst them. i don’t really understand what happened as i lay here in reflection. All I know is that, the Lord has put me in a place where I feel I am doing His work, but I will be damned if I am for once not sure if I can do what He is asking.

♜: All consumers were visually tagged, per agreed protocol. A search-fail by your agents should be concerning, but it is not my failure.

⊙: ᚦ, don’t take your frustration out on everyone else. However, you do raise a good point. ♜, stop sleeping where you’re eating.

ᚦ: For real though, that street meat is starting to get to your brain.

♜: There were some losses of control, but, it’s been within the agreed upon risk parameters.

ᚦ: Has it?

♜: Of course.

❤: It did help in San Francisco. We were able to procure more of what ⊙ wants.

♜: ᚦ, the risk matrix was evident. Baltimore is under your control, now that I’ve removed the greatest risk. In addition, our vampire problems in New Orleans became solutions. I fail to see your issue.

⊙: The issue is that if the Contingent had been any smarter, they would have uncovered our plans and then our entire operation would have been jeopardized. You were lucky that they are all homo sapien fools.

♜: Yes, but that was part of the risk matrix, wasn’t it?

⊙: Well, yes, we did run simulations against them, first. Especially the active hunters.

♜: They rescued me; what further proof could you want that the calculations were accurate?

ᚦ: They located the ectoplasm needed for the Phase One reprogramming, plus they showed me exactly how the Masonic carvings work—they even delivered the instructions. All I had to do was uninstall them and transport them to the mortals’ boneyard. SUCKERS!!

❤: They also gave us the bell. They practically gifted it to us wrapped in a bow.

⊙: It’s unfortunate that you then followed that up by slaughtering their coworkers. I am bothered by how often we resort to murder. It’s inefficient and unkind. Do not forget that they have killed several of our enemies and injured one of our rebellious “allies” this year alone.

♜: Again, part of the risk matrix.

ᚦ: You know, if we play this right, we could probably turn them on Blackstar next.

♜: What are you…?

⊙: Don’t use their names! You know you can’t use names!

♜: Why would you say that?

⊙: Because she’s impulsive and a crazy person.

♜: Switching channels.

<transmissions>

♜: Confirmation, all parties present, no external agents.

⊙: My location in Columbia was destroyed. This is why everyone says you’re a bitch.

ᚦ: Oops! Sorry about that ;D

⊙: “Sorry about that”? It was on purpose.

❤: Children…

⊙: Your lies don’t work on us, ᚦ. We aren’t idiots.

❤: No, we have the Contingent for that. <laughter> I believe we now do what the humans call “a fist bump.”

⊙: I still would like to perform an analysis to make sure that the world will end as expected.

❤: “End of the world” is so grim. I prefer “rebirth.”

ᚦ: A new evolution.

⊙: I am amenable to renaissance.

❤: The Renaissance. Now, that was an age. Art and beauty all around me.

♜: The Renaissance didn’t go well for me. All that freedom doesn’t suit my tastes.

⊙: Back to the issue at hand. Phase One is reaching its apex. Everything has been procured. Once the Door has been created, we can use our Key.

♜: This doesn’t involve the three of us.

⊙: It does. Without Phase One, the conditions wouldn’t arise that even makes Phase Two possible.

♜: I am aware; however, leave Phase Two to us, as we are leaving Phase One to you. Compartmentalizing the details of each Phase was critical to risk reduction.

❤: The ones that were too broken for my workings in San Francisco were sent to you. Have you received them?

⊙: Yes, and their physical condition was better than anticipated.

♜: And I expect you have the applied science from the New Orleans transubstantiation experiment?

⊙: Yes, it’s already running.

❤: Ah, and the rivers?

⊙: The Avernian wellsprings are being diverted as expected. They should be unleashed on schedule.

ᚦ: Once the waters are running again, I’m FINALLY gonna get my boy out of lockup! The party in D.C. is gonna be OFFTHEHOOK!!

⊙: Your love triangle is just so creepy.

ᚦ: What love triangle?! There’s no TRIANGLE. There was me, and Samael. Samael picked the wrong side…and I made sure he paid for his lack of vision. Soon, he’ll understand—we’ll reform humanity hand in hand, as it was always meant to be.

⊙: Ugh, you are so…human. It’s disgusting.

❤: Love is love is love.

♜: Well, ᚦ did fall for a reason. As did we all.

<silence>

♜: Moving on, the revisions to the Etemenanki Protocol are nearly ready. The energy is stacked away. We just need to find the right puppet to pull it off.

⊙: Excellent! And your new nation is about to be formed.

❤: Yes. An eruption, one might say.

⊙: Lol

ᚦ: Oh, I already have a spot for my new condo all staked out. You can use it if you want, ♜. Think of it as a timeshare.

⊙: HA, timeshare. I see what you did there.

♜: I’m putting things right, down in the Delta. I won’t have time for Volcano.

⊙: This is where we fundamentally differ. I think people should be free and rise up. You want to replace our Father.

❤: Daddy issues.

♜: “Daddy” didn’t smash you into dust and cast you across the planet. So yes, I have some issues.

❤: No, Daddy just smashed everything I loved into bits.

ᚦ: None of you know issues. My work was everything, literally everything, and it was taken from me.

⊙: I lost my wine glass when I fell…

❤: Aww, I have a vineyard with many wine glasses if you need one.

⊙: Actually, yes! Also, I prefer pinks.

♜: WINE? There’s no wine in the New World. There’s just some horrid thing that grows near the coast. The fact that you could call it wine is beyond me. And of course you like pinks.

ᚦ: That’s why it likes walking around in that hippie-chick meat suit so damn much.

⊙: I don’t always wear my “hippie chick.” I have a lot of identities. I’m not as attached to mine as you are.

ᚦ: Oh, come on. Allie keeps popping up all over the place, and that’s just a coincidence?

Storyteller: Justin

One of the locations pointed out by Rouke is Morehead Observatory in Chapel Hill. This venerable location announced ambitious plans for renovations earlier in the year and has recently reopened for limited shows. However the Contingent hasn’t been able to discover the source of the funding for these renovations or even who performed them. The parallels between this and Flagstaff are unnerving. Let’s all come back from this alive.

Hunters

Major Clues

Patron is actually four demons

Patrons believe that they are overthrowing an oppressive world and freeing everyone, but, most people will die in the process

Allie is the Patron of the Eye

The Patron of the Eye used the observer effect to still the minds of humanity. Then, it used psychics to gather madness and focus it, creating a door to something else in the mind of humankind, allowing them to believe the world was weirder and darker than they thought. Next, the key was partially put in the door before being broken. The door cracked open.

Phase one of the plan of the Patrons to end the world and start it over is complete. Phase two is beginning.

Storyteller: Cathy

Susan Rourke believes Dorothea Dix hospital is another key location in The Patron’s apocalyptic plans. Although there are rumors of the hospital’s imminent closing, it still houses a small number of inmates. In fact, traffic cameras show a charter bus in the area recently with California plates unloading new patients. Our preliminary research traces the bus back to GesCharter; yet another mysterious shell corp. The Contingent must found out what The Patron is planning and help the people inside who may be under its control.

Storyteller: Richard

Rourke marked Duke University as a center of Patron activity. Contingent operatives also identified Duke’s Parapsychology Department as the source of a hack that compromised ASI’s dream lab weeks ago. This hacker may also be responsible for bringing down the Secret Frequency. Your team must infiltrate the West Duke Building, locate and neutralize the rogue hacker’s operations, and gather advance intel for our heavy hitters.

Hunters

Major Clues:

The Patron is not a single demonic entity as long-suspected, but rather four distinct demons working in concert to bring about the end of the world.

One of the Patron Demons, the Eye (using the guises of Allie Espina and Ben Coffin), funded research at Duke’s Rhine Lab to funnel madness from patients at Dix Hospital into Rhine’s telepaths and project it out into all of humanity via the equipment at the Morehead Planetarium. The endgoal was to make humanity capable of believing in their apocalyptic vision—or, as Allie claimed repeatedly, “to free you, both in mind and in soul”.

The Observer summoned a horrid entity from beyond this reality to achieve its goals at Duke: a psychic cenobite which used the guise of Dr. Jim Krull to recruit psychics and telepathically flood them with insanity.

To bring about this cataclysmic potential, the Eye created a mystical Key from both its own body and the brands of its cultists (including Miles Jaggens) to unlock a great Door which appeared in an extradimensional space inside the lab. Although the hunters destroyed both the Key and the Eye, the other demons—the Heart, the Thorn, and the Tower—claimed that the Door’s mere existence was all that they required in order to move forward with their plan. Furthermore, the hunters learned that the Eye had created a glitch in space-time to repeat these events in three distinct locations so as to multiply its chances of success in case one of its attempts failed (as it did here).

Harry McCoy put his video camera up to the keyhole in the Door and saw five rivers—three of water, one of fire, one of blood—flowing together into a great rift of darkness. A cloud of tormented souls rose out of the mist and steam.

I went through a dimention in a dam with no name

I’ve been continuing to research the history of what I’m going to refer to as the Hill Valley dam. The reason I say that is that as strange as this sounds, on every record and drawing I’ve come across, there is some sort of copying error, degradation, or damage that obscures the name. Construction of the dam was completed in 1929 just as the Great Depression was taking hold. There doesn’t seem to be any budget authorization from the South Carolina General Assembly to build the dam. I also can’t find any call or information about the impetus for this dam from within the Department of Natural Resources or the Department of Transportation. It appears it came directly from a small office in the Department of Administration but the funding source for it is unclear. The whole project was planned by a company named Noir Astra and built by other various private contractors. They did not consult with the Army Corp of Engineers as is typical for large water projects of this nature. Noir Astra and every other company that I can track down that was involved in the construction of the dam went under either shortly after the dam was created or in the stock market crash.

Another oddity is that while this was a new dam, a project was undertaken under the WPA (Workers Progress Administration) to “revitalize" the dam. WPA projects were almost exclusively for new infrastructure that was labor intensive. I’m unclear what may have been labor intensive about “revitalizing” a new dam. Also strangely, despite the controversy of the WPA and how projects were selected and money was spent, this dam never showed up on any lists of misappropriated projects that opponents of the WPA objected to.

The Hill Valley dam also underwent another set of renovations and upgrades in 1979, exactly 50 years after the original construction. This time the upgrades were performed by the Department of Transportation but it is unclear who initiated these upgrades. The dam hadn’t been listed in the Department’s previous list of critical infrastructure investment needs in years prior. In 1979 it just appeared on the list and the work was performed. I can’t find any earlier environmental impact studies about the project that are required and typically done years in advance of the project actually starting.

Dam Design

Even more mysterious than the funding and building of the Hill Valley dam is the intent behind it. From looking at insurance flood plain maps and historical records, the Tyger River watershed has no history of serious flooding. From a flood prevention perspective, there is no reason for a dam even to the original specification size, much less the later improvements and upgrades. Agriculturally, along various branches of the Tyger River, there hasn’t been extensive need of water management either. Historically, Hill Valley and the surrounding area hasn’t had any heavy industry. Business have typically chosen to locate closer to Greenville. It wasn’t until Cloverleaf was set up in the 90’s that the area had any industrial base at all, so there was no need for a hydro electric facility of this size.

Now that I’ve ruled out all of the common purposes for building a dam, I’m left with the uncommon. The dam is constructed with multiple sets of wards. My research shows that one set of wards is to prevent ghosts from entering the area. Another set of wards are to prevent death. Looking at the various stages of the dam’s design and subsequent renovation projects, the dam always had a gothic style that is pretty atypical for both the area and the time period for public works. There is definite death symbolism included in the design. However, looking over the plans and the lists of materials used, it wasn’t until the 1979 renovations and upgrades that these were actually completed into what I recognize as modern wards. I can’t completely rule out whether there were mystical effects from the initial design though. The wards now however are degraded and not at the power they were designed with in 1979.

Dam Recent History and Interest to The Contingent
The land around the damn originally belonged to the Rourkes. At some point eminent domain was used by the State of SC and was declared public land and made part of an obscure conservatory program. The Carfax Trust acquired the land in 1992 from the State of SC. We now know that Alexander Carfax is a very powerful vampire. He had some knowledge of what was happening at/in the area of the dam but didn’t know how to access it. Someone within Project Chimera, in 2006, Carfax had Tom and Cloverleaf install security and keep a watch on the dam site. It wasn’t until our team discovered how to access…I don’t know quite what to call it other than “the site”, that Carfax could make his move. When in “the site” there was some somewhat modern equipment that seemed to be from a Project Chimera expedition. I’m unsure if they did not inform Carfax of how to enter, or if there were other factors that he wasn’t ready to launch his plan yet.

The Site

We were able to access what isn’t really the damn, but is in some sort of perpendicular space that is at the same site as the dam. In this other dimensional space, we found a massive device, that was comprised of two giant pillars that had interfaces at the base. The interfaces were VM interfaces with keyboards. Strangely enough we were able to understand the interface and keyboards. Even inside the interface, there was an escape to console such as you even see in some video games. It is truly frightening what could enable this sort of mapping onto our understanding of an intuitive interface. Once we were in the interface, we discovered a computer simulation of “heaven” afterlifes for souls that seemed to somehow be pulled into this device. It appeared to be the souls of those bound to the Hill Valley area. They were each living out an afterlife, unaware that they were actually in a device. The device itself seemed to be breaking down and not completely operating as it should.

This is what my research has turned up so far on the history and construction of the dam. There are other case files that further detail the encounter we had with Carfax and how his minions accessed the device.

Chapel Hill, NC has a history of outsiders, weirdos, punks, hippies, actors and miscreants of a particular blend. Lately they’ve been harder to find. Making way for the marriage of new money and old. Developers out to make even the airport coffee Starbucks sells operate under the glamour of being fringe. Now open 7 a.m. to 10 p.m. Their numbers are still strong 8 blocks west on the other side of the Welcome to Carborro Line. The pioneers among them have gone further south to forge co-ops and communes on the Chatham County line.

However if you know where to look, you can still find the true believers waiting for the call for the great leap forward. They can be seen at the cemetery leaving tulips for Charles Kuralt. They can found trying out half baked monologues to an empty amphitheater in the Forrest theater. They are bumming bus fair for the free transit system in front of the Weaver Street Market. You can find them dancing in the dark when Dex and Sarah are rocking the Cave. Late at night their stomachs are growling in anticipation of the Gambler, served on salvaged plates from the Old Rat by TJ. Until September you might find one or two of them placing final goodbye scratches behind Red and Elmo’s ears at the Bookshop. If you have a broken heart you might even meet one of them serving you a magic martini at the Carolina Coffee House. If you don’t ask her to take out the olives, she might even tell you where to find their real sanctuary, the Undercity.

Once upon a time there were entrances all over town to the Undercity. Now there are two. You can get in at the Midway Barber Shoppe by asking PJ for a damn fine haircut, or you can make your way to the Undercity via Edith taking a shine to you at the Shrunken Head.

The Undercity got its start as a middle finger to the war on drugs in the 1980’s. It was built three stories the DA’s Office in the old Post Office at the line between East and West Franklin Street. The first occupants used it as a 50 yard marijuana farm. Climate controlled, hydraulic pressed doors 15 inches thick weighing in at 3 tons. Power is taken from the city grid, with a backup system tied to the oil back up for the university’s steam tunnel system. The ceiling lights are ultra violet. In 1989 the marijuana plants were cleared out, sheet-rock walls put up and a sprinkler system put in when it became a music venue.

Fate and fortune conspired to have the Undercity outgrown or forgotten about by the time the year 2000 came around. That changed when Edith, from the Sunken Head was painting her back wall to be ready for Halloween in 2004.

Edith, her husband Spaz gathered up like minded friends and turned the Undercity into a secret market. Only two types of currency are accepted PLENTY Dollars, a social experiment in local economic tender, silver, and quid pro quo from vendor to vendor. Edith and Spazz have spent years reproducing old tomes from the UNC-CH Libraries giving walls a Victorian gothic feel. If you spend enough time browsing the collection you’ll notice it is divided into lore, classics, law, and musical compositions. PJ encouraged a local band of Hari Krishnas and Lutherans to run operate a 30 bed free Hostel. Elizabeth Somner, a pastor with the Lutherans handles most of their operations.

Notable traders include a carpenter named Roger Growler Jose Cardenas gives the first option for his eggs and vegetables to the undercity before taking them his store on the city limit line. Sabrina Windshield trades upcycled gear. Mostly junk but people do throw out useful things. Professor Biarack is always looking for hired hands to help with his “science experiments”. What really makes the place come alive though is hearing teenagers practicing music, kids learning to throw hatchets, and an all ages menageries trying to entertain the market with original productions.

Being deep underground you expect it to smell like mold and mildew but you will pleasantly surprised. The undercity smells like sawdust, olive oil, and birch.

The streets may be wilted and full of fresh paint over decay but the Undercity makes this a town with wandering back to now and again.

Part 1

Victim 1: 35 year old caucasian male. Third degree burns across the entirety of the torso, but not cause of death. Extreme heat melted the vitreous body, and there are small fractures on the inside of the orbit.

Mal paused, trying to find the best word to describe what she was looking at. The chest was splayed open, but there was not an excessive amount of trauma.

There is no indication of ripping or cutting. She furiously erased the sentence. The thoracic cavity was pulled open perimortem. There are holes, three fourths of an inch in diameter through the skin, muscle and into the costal cartilage of ribs 2, 3, 5, 7 and 9. The shape of the wound indicates a hook was used. The hook went through the cartilage and terminates into the posterior of the bone. The ribs are fractured but not broken.

If pulling their chests open without splintering the bone was their goal, this was a smart way to go about it.

The hearts are missing, but there is not any significant damage to the pleural cavity. No indication of any symbols or rituals.

Mal put down her clipboard and pulled on a pair of gloves, in preparation to start her examination of the abdominal cavity. But something made her stop, and she looked down at the body.

Why am I hesitating? It’s been awhile since I’ve been here, in the lab, doing an actual autopsy. Maybe that’s it? But, identifying what killed people is how I got into hunting in the first place, it should feel good, but it doesn’t. Why? Oh, that’s right, I have no soul.

She shook her head, in an attempt to stop her through process, and out of the corner of her eye she caught a glint of metal, lodged between the transverse colon and the stomach. Well, this must be the wire used to pull the chest apart. She thought. It looks thick enough. As she moved the intestine out of the way to access the stomach, she gasped as she noticed bite marks. But they were nothing like she had ever seen. The flesh was not ripped or torn, like she had seen on the victims of typical shifter attacks. It was almost as if the organ was impaled. The punctures were needle thin, on the medial ends of the stomach. Even just from looking at the distance between the bit marks she knew that whatever creature had attacked him, had the capability to dislocate their jaw. What the hell did this?

She removed the stomach with practiced ease, and placed it on a tray. She retrieved a digital camera from her bag, and started taking pictures from various angles. She wasn’t sure why, but something about it reminded her of a sea creature, but she wasn’t positive. Once she was done she sent a text to Chelsea.

Could you see if Empire has a marine biologist on staff? I’m going to forward you some files.

While she waited for a response she confirmed that there were the same bite marks on the internal organs of the other victims. The ones that were further away from the house did not have the damage to their eyes, and the the burns were less severe. She remembered something that Charles had said, about lights flickering near Stella, and she shivered. Her laptop pinged and she opened the email in her inbox.

I was really surprised to hear from you! From the photos you sent me I’d say that it looks like the bite of an anglerfish. But a land dwelling anglerfish big enough to attack humans? That’s like MST3K stuff. I hope that helps. Let me know what you find out!

Sincerely,Amy Perez

A fish shifter? I never even realized that was possible. Someone must know. Mal scrolled through the contacts in her phone, before hitting dial, hoping that the number she had was still active. She sighed in relief when it clicked over to voicemail.

“Hey Ed, it’s Mal. Listen, I have a quick question. Have you ever heard of a shifter that could turn into a fish? Call me as soon as you get this, it’s important.”

Zak Zimmerman

Hey Agentman. Do you remember when I played Chris in ‘The Storm Has A Name’?i’ve been thinking a lot (me? I know right!) about the part where the beautiful fortune teller saw his girlfriend’s death, and then he had a dream about it, and then it happened, just like in the dream! thats what happened to me in SC, except you aren’t my girlfriend (unless theres something you want to tell me :)), the fortune teller was actually a guy dressed as the devil, and it was you from the future talkgin to me instead of a dream. I know this all sounds crazy, just think of it as me ‘going hollywood’ and wasting my money. Oh, right, what I’m spending money on, don’t be worried if you see someone tailing you around (unless its a bad guy, then do be worried), I hired a PI (so cool!) to keep an eye on you until I think you are safe.
Be AWESOME!

Chaos Ensues Again

Where to start…how much more surreal can my life be? I feel lead to do the Lord’s work. But, I will be damned if I can make heads or tails of where he is leading me. I am plagued by thoughts of my last mission and what happened to me.

I was back in Hill Valley, SC where I met up with my fellow agents trying to find out the cause of the swarms of spirits in the town. We found information that led us to believe that Jason Crowe, the traveling philanthropist, was not who he seemed. in fact it was possible that was possessed by a devilish pig demon and was not even alive. What in God’s name is happening in this town? While searching for information, I had this… encounter… with what I think was my past, in the form of a little girl. Why does she keep haunting me? I tried to help her, but she…she…crawled up my arm… and into my body. I could feel in her my mind trying to taint my every action. God how does one exercise one’s self? I noticed the signs of possessions in Grainger. Maybe it was the taint in me seeking and finding one with a similar stain, but I saw it. As I am called by God to do his work and help His children, I could do not but help. I took his demon upon myself when I laid hands upon him……Oh God in Heaven, you had mercy on me that day, when that second entity entered my body, the two coalesced into one and began to transform. The pain was excoriating, the thing was transforming my body into its vessel. God be praised for the quick thinking of Grainger and the lab at Cloverfield. They were able to cryogenicly freeze my abdomen and stop the demons transformation of my body. but I had been tainted and could no longer perform the exorcism ritual to rid Hill valley of the pig demon. A new champion was needed. An informant told us that Hill Valley already had a Champion…Susan Rourke! So my companions, set off to gather her from the hospital in Columbia and bring her back to perform the ritual. We had gathered a number items and people to aid us in the exorcism and so set out at the local garage, for some reason it meant a lot to the community.

For the entire cermony my ears were ringing from the gun shots as armed men, Wayne and Jacob shot down spirits from disrupting our ceremony. But finally it was complete and Hell was returned one of its fiends.

If only now I could get the images out of my mind from my own possession. Knowing what I know now from my experience, how must that little girl have felt when I was leaning over here shouting biblical verse? Scared?
God knows i am still.

Doctor Miller sat on a wall...

The itching wouldn’t stop. A little spot on the back of his left shoulder blade tingled, ensuring Richard was always aware of its presence. It was a reminder of an exhausting trial that he would much rather forget. It was perhaps the first time on a mission that Richard was in his element, yet it was all so alien. The Lazerus mission should have been a bust; They succeeded, but at what cost?

“You alright there, Egghead?”

The voice pulled Richard from his thoughts and back to the Alibi and the low drone of conversation that filled its walls. An adrenaline-junkie working with the Union sat across from him, eyeballing Richard with curiosity from behind a glass as he took another drink. Richard hesitated, almost forgoing his typical canned reponse. That certainly would have been a mistake.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just trying to think if I’m forgetting any questions. It’s been tough finding leads. Are you sure you haven’t seen any anyone else with this mark on them?”

“Nope. Not apart from what ya’ll already know. Might be better to comb over details you’ve missed than seek new leads at this point. Atleast until something else happens, yeah?”

A sigh escaped Richard’s lips. Taking a break from being hunched over research was pleasent enough, but he struggled to part from his work, even when seeking respite at the bottom of a bottle. Ten minutes hadn’t even passed before Richard was plying some of the regulars with drink in exchange for talk about recent happenings. Talk of rashes and marks cropping up within the recent months. It wasn’t leading anywhere other than confirming what most in the Contingent were already aware of. Perhaps it was time to stop.

“I suppose so. Thanks for the chat, yeah?”

“Sure thing, Egghead. Keep safe out there, ya hear?”

Richard offered him a thin smile, excusing himself from the table. After paying his tab, he eyed Chris McMillian for a moment, the man who always seemed to be tied to a phone. Always in touch with various unknown contacts, it seemed. The itching on his shoulder kicked in again. Eureka!

Unknown contacts. “Friends” he hasn’t made yet. Where to start though? He frowned in thought as he left the Alibi, walking down Bourbon Street as he hatched a new plan, for better or for worse.

A long time ago, there lived in Hill Valley a girl named Susan Rourke. Incorrigible, she would smoke, talk back to her elders, cuss, and, worst of all, skip church. Raised by a single mother, everyone knew that Susan wouldn’t amount to anything. Then one day, a monster came.

Out of legends, the Dullahan rode into Hill Valley. Over the course of weeks, the good Christian people of Hill Valley began dropping like flies. The adults of the town, far too clever to listen to stories of magic and monsters, prayed for deliverance while looking for more mundane, medical causes. That’s when Susan and a few of her friends knew it was up to them. Through cleverness, bravery, and loss, they managed to seal the beast away in an abandoned amusement park. When it was done, they knew things could never go back to the way they were before. The world was so much broader than one small town in the middle of nowhere South Carolina. Susan left her mother and life behind to explore, to discover what else was out there.

Decades passed, and as suddenly as she left, she was back. The years had not been kind. Surgery scars adorned her, burn marks stood out on her temples, and her veins showed black against the skin by her arms and legs. She stumbled into town with a warning: the land was sick, and soon the world was going to end. Again, the good people of Hill Valley were far too sensible to listen to a crazy homeless woman. They dismissed her, and put her in prison. Her friends knew better, though. They reached out to the Contingent, and like a tempest, the Contingent came. With them, though, came Project Chimera.

Project Chimera sent forth witches and gun-toting psychic psychopaths. Monster snakes breathing poison slithered out of caves, and faeries came forth from hidden realms. Together, the Contingent and Susan faced them all. Every step of the way was a grueling trial until, at last, they reached the Promise Tree, a sacred symbol of an ancient pact between the Rourkes and the fae. Bleeding out on its roots, and slipping into a coma, Susan fulfilled the covenant and claimed the crown of the Queen of the Faeries. From her endless dreams she unleashed the Dullahan, and wielding a whip made of bones it cleansed the corruption in Hill Valley, ending the threat of Chimera.

As Susan lay dreaming, months went by. Her body mended, her mind healed, and she thought her story was done—that she was free of monsters and suffering. But that was not the case. While she slept, other monsters came. Hill Valley was dying, and the pact bound the faeries from interfering without their queen’s command. The Contingent came to her sleeping form and reminded her that she had a duty to her people and to the world. She awoke, and reestablished her dominion. Her mind now restored, she knew where the Patron was—and she would aid the Contingent in ferreting it out.

Journal Entries from Dr. Ethan Prescott

The following journal entries were found in the GesLab facility in San Francisco. It is believed that this journal belonged to Dr. Ethan Prescott, the head scientist running the facility. These are the portions we were able to save from the lab. It should be noted that these entries were handwritten and included doodles of a heart with a flame over it and a poorly drawn portrait of Stella Buchanan.

April 30, 2017
The last successful group has left. All were just as docile as the previous groups. The treatment has been successful. I’m not sure why we’re being ordered to stop. I feel like there’s much more we can do to help these troubled souls. I can’t complain too much as I’m being paid through the year as promised.

October 16, 2016
We have acquired our first test subjects. It has been decided that we will start with patients that have a history of severe mental illness or violent tendencies. Hopefully we can bring some peace to these people. I look forward to trying this new technology. I never thought I’d be chosen to work on such a prestigious and potentially life changing project.

March 13, 2017.
Our procedure today did not go well. We began with a woman who arrived with a doll she was very attached to. We had to sedate her to be able to remove the doll from her arms. The woman was delusional and seemed to think the doll was her child. I wanted to begin with her as I hoped to bring her some relief. However the machine seemed to cause her excruciating pain. She was thrashing in the chair and we had to administer even more sedatives. When the process was finished, and she awoke she was acting almost feral as if all humanity had been removed from her. Her cylinder was empty so we knew we had not successfully extracted her illness. The orderlies took care of her. I still don’t know what that means but I did keep her doll.

November 3, 2016
Finally a success! The cylinder was full. I spoke to Ms. Buchanan and she was very pleased. She said when we have 40 successful retractions, we can send them to the recovery center. The patient seemed at peace after awakening from the procedure. I really think we may have found the cure for mental illness!

November 24, 2016
Yes Im spending Thanksgiving at the lab. Ms. Buchanan had the staff over for a feast Tuesday evening. She is absolutely delightful. She was so thrilled at our progress in curing the patients. Our first busload of cured patients will be leaving for the recovery center next Monday. I am concerned about their complacency but Stella reassures me their time at the center will help them recover fully.

January 1, 2016
Stella invited me to her New Year’s Eve party last night. She was stunning. She chose to kiss me at midnight! I would do anything for this goddess of a woman. She’s so inspiring!

Storyteller: Richard

Whether via email, SMS text, or your choice of messaging service, you receive a link to a non-public YouTube video. It’s audio-only, running beneath a still image of an ASI logo. A boyish voice speaks into the microphone; barely-disguised fatigue and worry are evident in the timbre of his speech.

“Uh, attention all Contingent operatives, this is Director ”/characters/ken-yakana" class=“wiki-content-link”>Ken Yakana of ASI Washington. We’ve, uh, got a pretty serious situation here, and I need a team to come help us sort it out fast. Look, a few of our advanced-skills agents volunteered for a trial run of a virtual-reality psychotherapy matrix. Um…I dunno how to tell you this, but…dude, they won’t wake up. I can tell from their MRIs that they’re not brain-dead…yet. But, bro, something’s gone really wrong and I can’t figure out how to fix it from this side. I know this sounds sketchy, but we need to send some backup into the VR matrix—preferably people who are highly mentally resilient and have dealt with psychic phenomena before. We’ve developed a new serum that can probably help you get in and out of the matrix more safely if you want some—I’ll give you the run-down on it in the interest of informed consent before we jack you in."

Hunters

MAJORCLUES:

1. The ASI dream matrix experiment was compromised by a virus inserted via a backdoor which traced back to an IP address at Duke University in Durham, NC. The purpose of the virus was to irreversibly fragment a user’s brain into multiple parts, leaving them comatose. However, Usturanol exposure intensified and altered the effects.

2. Five symbols appeared repeatedly and persistently in the dream world:
○ A sinister key, previously used by multiple followers of the Patron
○ The triple-eye symbol seen elsewhere recently
○ A Norse rune meaning “thorn”
○ A heart crowned by a candle flame
○ A tower resembling a chess rook with double doors on the bottom-front

Storyteller: Justin

“The dead are walking. Now that the machines of Heaven.exe have been shut down, it seems that souls and magic are flowing through Hill Valley, again. Unfortunately, it’s not a babbling brook, it’s a damn torrent. Shadows just on the edge of sight are everywhere, urging, hungering, tormenting, manipulating, controlling, and dragging people into whatever hell they’ve built. We’re handling the day to day, but we need some additional resources to solve the overarching problem.”

Storyteller: Cathy

The San Francisco Coalition on Homelessness estimates that there are 12,000 homeless people living in the city. Citizens are used to seeing them as they go about their business, but something is changing them—reports say they’re becoming more subdued and lethargic, and rumors are spreading that the government is lobotomizing people. Most people, though, barely give all this a second thought—they view these people as a burden, and wonder if this change is for the better. Fortunately, not everyone feels that way: The Emperor of San Francisco has left a note at Wilson’s calling for hunters to help him figure out what is happening to his homeless friends.

A Call To Arms! I request the assistance of my loyal foot soldiers. Several good citizens of our city have gone missing. Some of the missing have returned, and they are different. I fear they have lost their zest for life—their true essence. As Emperor of this grand city, I cannot stand by and let such a fate befall my people. Will you join me? Meet me at the Miguel De Cervantes memorial statue in Golden Gate Park this Friday at 20:00.

Hunters

Important Clues

The drug Usturanol is being pushed on the streets of San Francisco

Someone had been collecting homeless people in the city and bringing them to a lab owned by GesLab. The people were promised food, shelter, and job assistance in exchange for participating in an experimental treatment. In reality, they were having their souls sucked out.

Stella Buchanan appears to be linked to the experiment. An ASI team was sent to her home to apprehend her. The entire team was slaughtered.

All of the homeless people who had been experimented on now bear the three eyed mark.

Several chartered buses seemed to have taken people from the lab to an unknown destination.

“So I guess this is day ten since I ingested the fruit. There was concern about the amount of propofol that was needed to keep me sedated. Anyway, since I’ve been talking to myself a lot even while I was unconscious Chelsea thought it would be a good idea for me to have an audio recording, so I can review it later. I don’t see how this is going to be helpful. You know what would be helpful? Letting me see my records. Letting me run some tests. If I don’t get the data now…”

“No, that’s not good enough! That’s not going to tell me anything! Steve says it’s been three days since you took a urine sample. If I am seeing things, like you all keep telling me, then there is going to be some change in neurotransmitter levels and that has to be monitored often. Blood samples are not reliable for that. And I need compare the structural integrity of my cells to the samples from Cloverleaf. There’s a special test with this contrast… See, this is why I have to do this myself, because I know what I’m looking for! That’s why I ate the apple in the first place! I know myself, I know my labs, it was the best way to get the information. Are you just going to sit there and let this be for nothing?”

“Mal, you need to calm down. It gets worse if you’re upset.”

“How would you fucking know that huh? Show me proof!”

“Mal, Mami, you know that I hate doing this to you, but I will put you back under if you make me.”

(pleading) “No, please, I don’t want to. Guys, you’re right there, you have to help me. Make her understand…”

(Sound of footsteps and inaudible words)

(Male voice) “Doctor Cunningham, I need you to remain still okay? Hand me the syringe please.”

(sobbing) “No, Eva, why did you call them? Please…”

“I’m sorry.”

(Recording ends)

Day fifteen. So, I found a blood draw kit under the bathroom sink. Well, Cerin told me it was here. She’s good at finding things, since she hides in the shadows and watches. I will admit I overreacted the first time I saw her, I thought she was the Patron, which seems silly now, because I know that not all shadows are inherently evil. But hey, now I can get the samples I need. See, I’m clearly labeling the tubes so there is no way they can mess this up.” (pause) “What’s that Steve? Why is my blood red? Well, to put it simply it’s because of the interaction between the iron in my blood and oxygen. You want to see it? I don’t know..” (pause) “You’d do that? Are you sure? Because I’ve got to tell you, it’s been my dream to be able to study Fae anatomy, and I’ve never got the chance…I’ve always wanted…Just one vial of blood? Okay, I mean I was only going to run a CBC on this one anyway…”

Day twenty one. I think I’m starting to feel a little better. At least now I’m able to acknowledge that what I’m seeing isn’t real.” (pause) “Well of course you’re real, but not in the mortal realm. Look, would you please just shut up you’re not making this any easier. I think part of the issue is I’m bored. Not being productive is…agitating. I wis…I want to be able to just shut my brain off for awhile, but I can’t. I have lists,” (shuffling of paper) “I hoped that by writing things down it would help keep my thoughts straight, but it’s not working. I’ve been thinking about the Vampires, about Allie and the vision, about how to help Susan. What makes it worse is that I have no way to get answers, because I can’t leave the apartment. I know it’s something that is necessary, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. But what scares me is these things I’m seeing, they keep telling me they can give me the answers, to everything. I know that if I say yes, they are going to take something from me. I don’t know what. Not knowing the price is what got me here in the first place. But the longer this goes on, the more difficult it is to say no.” (pause) “No, I don’t want to know how much voltage it would take to obtain Susan’s memories. I can figure it out on my own. I don’t need you, I’ve never needed anyone”

(Recording Ends)

Day twenty eight. I’ve been taking Haldol for the past few days. My thoughts have been slower, more quiet. I keep wondering, is this how the majority of the population experiences the world? I can’t imagine living like this. At this point I just want this to be over. I’d like to be able to say that I’m never going to do anything like this again, but I can’t. Eva said that I’d be lying to her and to myself, and I know she’s right. She’s right about a lot of things. All I can do right now is keep filling out the questionnaires to assess my mental state. It’s improving, which is encouraging. I just hope that I can glean something from it later. I would hate for all of this to be for nothing. Please don’t let this be for nothing…”

Season 4 Session 3 Writeup

The rains had softened the earth making the shovels job easier. Soil gave way to clay, followed by a rich vein of minerals. Virgil Half-Dollar inspected his work. “That oughta to be deep enough”, the hobo stated as much to the night sky as to his axe wielding companion.

“That’ll be right, Friend Virgil. Deep enough but not forgotten”, Tom Scarlet acknowledged while letting his reliable axe roll in his out stretched hairy palms. Steam escaped his crimson derby as it was struck by each drop of rain. Tom leaned the axe on his leg, letting it rest on his corduroy trousers. He reached into the air closed his eyes, and when he opened them again was holding an iron box 13 inches long, and 6.5 inches wide. Tom handed the box to Virgil.

Virgil took to box, and sat on the wet earth. He proceeded to unfold his classically constructed handkerchief bindle that was filled with mementos of adventures undertaken with the Contingent. Virgil rooted past the banjo string, the letter H from a broken keyboard, piles of salt, iron nails, an origami frog, a broken globe, and a black and an out of scale cartoon map of hill valley to reach the symbol of the Dullahan’s bane, a four leaf clover. Virgil placed the clover in iron box, placed the lid on it, and sealed it with a kiss. Virgil placed the box in the whole, and narrowly missed getting dirt kicked on him by Tom Scarlet. He filled the clay and dirt around the box and together in front of the plantation ruins of the Rourke estate the two men spread leaves, twigs, and debris around to conceal the spot.

Tom looked at the Hobo without judgement or even for once without the vague threat of murder in his eyes for once. “Lord Half-Dollar I am honor bound to tell you, this is a fool’s bargain. My Lady holds no interest in retribution upon you, or the Contingent. All that matters to her is the pact. Due let them know, the area must be cleansed by ancient way and even older terms. We will not move on the people or Rourke, or the lands of Rourke without the permission. Your actions have put you in the Rourke interest. We know you now, by your deeds”.

Virgil replied, it may be a fools bargain but a deal is a deal. “You and the Lady of Sorrow will not seek harm on the Contingent members operating out of Hill Valley until I get back or until Im dead. After that we’ll see where our interest junction”

Tom churtled to himself while looking up and down the pact tree in the distance. He spat in his hand and the two shook on it.

The rains increased. They two men took refuge under the tarp Virgil had setup over his still. Virgil released the copper tap and filled Tom’s stine, and his trusty mug for himself. Tom waited for Virgil to sit on the maola milk crate thrown before taking the coleman camping seat across from him. Tom asked him “When do you leave?”

“Tonight, tonight is my best chance to escape the Huntsman. I’ve gotten a tip that will make things easier. Even if that doesn’t work out, pity on him and his that try and stop me. My people need me. That’s how I got started in this whole mess. Asking the Contingent for help with the situation in California, and now they’ve come through. It’s taken a long way around, black stars, maypoles, boggards, getting thrown out of airplanes, humvee surfing, lost and found people, and purple crack mushrooms but duty calls.”

“Duty, one of my favorite things, along with the joy of a well kept hat. Shouldn’t you be worried about your friends here? They’ve made a strong enemy with the Carfax family, making deals they don’t understand with Boo Hags. Worse yet, and while we are grateful for services rendered, when a levy breaks there will be a flood. And the Carfax’s won’t be the only ones trying to pick up leftovers from the dam.”

“They’ll be fine. I have to find out if I’m broken or not”.

“Ah there it is, the source of this midnight melodrama. Everything fitting okay?”

“So souls are real, obviously a 6 year old can tell you that, but they don’t do what I thought they did. Your Soul is you, right, so it doesn’t make sense that they can be washed, hung out to dry, and then changed long long johns.”

“What matters Virgil, and take it from an experienced Butcher, is the meat, and the blood. Your pallet may change a bit but your experiences, they are what make you tough, and tender where it counts. When you the time comes you can try and get your old soul back. You may not remember where it is, but you know where to go.”

Their drinks finished, Virgil left the wild wood and began heading to the edge of town. Hear Tom’s laughter and and the swings of an axe meeting copper as walked away.

WASHINGTON, D.C.—Historic stonework has been uninstalled from the M Street Bridge, and no Washington D.C. municipal authority has any record of a work permit being issued to remove these carvings.

City agencies speculated that the Masonic carvings may have been stolen by black market prospectors seeking to sell the antique stonework to collectors.

The M Street Bridge has a storied history dating back to the late 18th century. The original wooden bridge at the site was the first bridge in the current District of Columbia, being constructed in 1788 by the City of Georgetown two years before it was incorporated into the District. The bridge collapsed during a severe storm, leading to a legend that the ghosts of a stagecoach driver and his horses that drowned in the collapse could be seen thereafter, still attempting to cross the bridge.

It was replaced by a heavy wooden drawbridge in 1800, as Rock Creek was at that time wide and deep enough that sailing ships needed to transit the bridge. A covered wooden bridge replaced the drawbridge in 1839 after the creek became unnavigable, followed by a steel-truss bridge in 1871, which was closed in 1925 because it had become structurally unsound. Remnants of the western abutment of the 1871 bridge still exist adjacent to that of the current bridge, which is where the stolen carvings were located.

George Seghers, Executive Director of the George Washington Masonic National Memorial, expressed sadness and disappointment at the theft of the Masonic carvings. “As you can imagine, my organization is greatly disturbed by this. We ask that anyone with information pertaining to this crime please step forward and contact either us or the Metropolitan Police Department so that we can retrieve these national treasures and see to it that the parties responsible are held accountable for this heinous act." Seghers added that the Masonic National Memorial is offering a reward of $1 million for information leading directly to the return of the carvings.

Taz really hopes she's helping

“The scanning parameters are ready to go, Ms. Crow. We’re just waiting on your final adjustments to the satellite.”

The earnest young woman, one of Empire Foundation’s brighter stars recently sent down from New York, attempted but didn’t quite achieve a state of casual non-hovering behind Taz. She wished her assistant would stop with the Ms. Crow business, but it seemed hardwired into damn it, what was her name? I can’t ask again, pretty sure I can’t call her “Smells like mimeograph ink and how the hell does someone smell like that in…uh…2017?” Hardwired into the scientist’s makeup. She probably can’t help it, means it as a sign of respect or something. The constant Ms. Crows were annoying, though. Agitating. Too close to something else.

Finishing a few more delicate adjustments, Taz brushed her hair out of the way and leaned back. The most intricate ones – the ones requiring some judicious use of the hedge thorn – had been completed late last night at Granger’s Own, out of sight of curious, ambitious scientists. Ground tests have all proved true so far, but hopefully, this will fine-tune the satellite’s ability to identify and track the “walking dead” of Hill Valley. Some are painfully obvious, and it appears that many of them understood, maybe in the back of their minds, that they weren’t really connected to the world of the living anymore. For others, though, this is going to be a nasty surprise.

At least now they won’t end up getting uploaded to heaven.exe anymore. That would’ve been Granger, or Virgil, or me, too. Christ. Who came up with this shit? Factory soul farming. Save the rainforest, buy organic, make sure the essence of your being isn’t being harvested and stripped for useful materials through a loophole created by an ancient pact between colonists and fae.

“Come to beautiful Hill Valley, South Carolina. You’ll put down roots before you know it.”

“Tanya, Ms. Crow. Tanya Chance.” The young woman offered a smile and seemed to finally relax, for the first time since arriving with the latest batch of personnel. “I was briefed on some of your memory issues, Ms. Crow. It doesn’t offend me…actually, it reminds me a little of my late grandfather.”

“Oh?”

“Before Alzheimer’s took him, he would tell me the best stories of his years as an office assistant downtown, working for the Times. Half the time he called me by my mother’s name, the other half by her sister’s.”

“Hmm. Did you keep anything of his?”

“It’s kind of foolish, but I always carry around some of his old paperwork with the handwritten notes he made on them, back when they used mimeographs to make copies…oh! Is that why you just called me Mim just now?”

Taz nodded and shrugged, a little half grin on her own face. “So, they told you about that, too?”

“Yeah. You know, I kind of like that. I’ve never had a nickname before. Didn’t spend a lot of time hanging out with classmates; too many scholarships to try for. It paid off, though, getting a chance like this with the Empire Foundation. He would’ve been so proud, My grandfather, I mean.”

It was getting really hard to not like this girl, dark brown eyes shining and her face taking on personality, as she stepped out of the “model scientist” role and let her unrestrained self come forward.

I hope she doesn’t want to become a Contingent agent.

“Ok, Mim then. I can remember that. And can you please just call me Taz? I can’t take much more of the Ms. Crow-ing. The satellite’s all set to go, so you can let Skaar, uh, Adr, no, uh Dr. Skaar’s connections at SpaceX to expect it there for tonight’s launch.”

This is going to help. I think. Is it a benefit to actually know? Will they start counting back the days to when they should’ve died, request a backdate for their obituaries? It’s not just for them, though. Other things are coming, and nobody but a few of us need to know about the other set of hardware and scanning parameters. Nasty things are coming, and it looks like some of them have already got eyes in the sky. Maybe this will even the playing field.

Or am I playing right into someone’s hands?

Why does this suddenly feel so familiar?

(“Excellent work Miss Crow!”)

“Taz, you’re going to hurt someone!”

“Um…Ms…I mean, Taz. Are you ok? You’re not hurting anyone. It’s just the two of us here right now.”

“Oh, sorry, Mim. My mind wandered there for a sec; it takes a while for me to get out of my tinkering zone, you know?”

“Oh, yes, of course! Well, no, not really. But if it’s anything like writing a thesis, then I’m right there with you.”

The young woman offered her hand to Taz, lips curving back in a warm smile. Bright teeth. Not those teeth, though. Taz shook her head, one quick jerk to clear the cobwebs and took it, hauling herself up from the laboratory floor.

It’s going to be ok. These are good preparations. Helping ones. Not like…whatever. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that they keep my crew’s asses alive this month.

Maybe Mim would like to take a walk down to the artists’ enclave, grab some fair-trade artisanal coffee, get introduced around to folks. Maybe kick a hemp balloon around with the kids, meet a psychic or a mage or tree spirit or something. Might be nice to take an afternoon off to rela-

“Oh, Taz…endra? Ms. Taz? No, just Taz is fine, got it. Did you hear about the notice sent out from HQ about keeping an eye, or nose, out for strange molds? Apparently there’s some really disturbing stuff they’re finding associated with it.”

An Apology to Dr. Cunningham

If I may be so presumptuous to call you “Mal,” then perhaps I can be so in calling you a friend. I have thought of little else but those moments in which I injected you with your own medicine; to drug you and leave you on the floorboard of a stolen vehicle. Let me say that again, I, a man of the cloth, willfully sedated you, possibly against your will and placed you inside an illegally attained vehicle. I don’t know how it all came to this, but maybe I should start at the beginning to try and wrap my head around it all.

I arrived in New Orleans and met with The Contingent agents. We all broke off on our separate ways to seek information about the happenings of the people of New Orleans and the strange things that were occurring to them. From the beginning, Wayne was seemingly running everywhere asking about vampires. That got us all thinking…and later, the evidence seemed to point in that direction. One thing that kept popping up was that God forsaken “Party Bus.” We new it was bad news, so we were just going to observe it and possibly track it. But somehow Lisa ended up on it and Wayne went to help. As we all watched helplessly, Wayne seemed to be ensnared by something on the bus and it slowly pulled away. We rushed to follow it and ended up chasing it into an obviously haunted, dark and shut down Six Flags amusement park. Father preserve us against the forces of darkness that draw us into places and situations like this. After seeing the “partiers” vacate the bus and ride the fun house train down into its bowels, we were mentally prepared to follow. Except we realized at that point that you did not seem to be. You were talking to things that were not there and loudly to boot. We were scared and you did not seem to be lucid at all neigh unreachable. Then you said something about medicating you, out of the blue. Then Eva got that look in her eyes and a resigned composure to match. She told me we had to sedate you, for the sake of the team and the mission.

Was I hearing this right? The woman who did not but attempt to do right by you, propose such a thing? But you were making so much noise. We were so worried that you would bring some unseen horror down on us. Eva had no medicinal skills, so it was left to me to do the dirty work.

Afterwards, we stored your comatose body in the stolen car Eva had raised. and continued into the fun house. Afterwards, the house of mirrors tried to trap us, but we were to willful for it to overcome. “let my people go!” So saith the Lord. Then we (sans you at this time) stumbled into this giant indoor amphitheater. On the stage stood some eyeless demon (some sort of weird brand of psychic vampire) with her ilk amongst the seats. She prattled on about being raised to some level above our God. Such insolence in the face of her former savior (she professes to be a former Catholic) I am almost ashamed God did not smite her for such a boast. She gave us a choice, go beyond her and through a door to face some evil she wanted uprooted or be fed upon and released like the many victims in New Orleans of her crazed brood. We chose to go through the door. We walked down a long staircase in the dark and what we found below was beyond description. A vast machine was secreting some strange liquid. (don’t worry, we got samples) But I got too close and some splashed on my hand. I felt some vast expanded consciousness come upon me, I felt everywhere and everything. Then it all collapsed. We were able to utilize the machine to suck the life out of the gathered vampires in the other room, but I am left uneasy. What vile and evil was this machine, what sort of abomination is the secretion that it made and why does this machine even exist.

After all that, it seems that no harm befell you during our adventure and in fact it seems that you may have gotten the better end of the bargain being sedated in the car. Nonetheless, I am still racked with guilt about what I did to you and humbly beg your forgiveness. However, I hope this letter finds you well and enlightens you a little about our misadventure and our decisions therein.

Storyteller: Cathy

Hey everyone! I hope you’re getting this. I heard the Frequency is down but Ken said this was still a good way to reach out. Anyways, it’s me… Gina! I finally got a real paying gig for us here in San Francisco. We’re being asked to act as security against the supernatural for this super swanky party on the Queen Mary. It’s docked here in Frisco for some big anniversary celebration. They towed it all the way up here from Long Beach, can you believe it? Now you’re probably wondering what this has to do with The Contingent. Turns out the ship has a sordid past (sort of like yours truly). It’s rumored to be haunted – it was even on that show, Unsolved Mysteries! Remember that show? It used to give my little Tony nightmares! Back to the ship, as it’s traveled north, it’s been stopping in various ports along the coast. Something awful has happened every time it docked. Some guy was mangled to death, another lady was shot, and a kid has gone missing. You know I’m not okay with that! If you’re available to help, meet me at the Musee de Macabre in the Haight.

Storyteller: Johnathan

You receive a strange envelope in the mail. Your name and address are written in unsteady handwriting and black ink which seems to have bled a bit before drying. There’s no return address. You open the envelope and three pieces of paper fall out. The first one is the business card from a drive-thru daiquiri bar in New Orleans. Written on the back in the same handwriting as the envelope are the following words, “Y’all better get down here. There some things you need to be fixin. – ”/characters/maman-minerva" class=“wiki-content-link”>MM"

The other two pieces of paper are articles from The Times-Picayune, New Orleans’ local paper. One bears the headline Flu Epidemic Affects City. The article details an unusual strain of the flu that seems to be going around. Patients are lethargic, groggy, and experiencing memory lapses. People from all walks of life have been affected. The word ‘lethargic’ is circled, and scrawled next to it is “Ain’t no flu doing this!”. The second article is about the abandoned Six Flags New Orleans Amusement Park and various reports of strange occurrences there. At the bottom of this article is written “Coming from here. Too many eyes”.

Hunters

Important Clues

GesChem and GesCourier

The Hunters discovered the GesChem name on the sealed canisters underneath Six Flags New Orleans. They also discovered paperwork linking shipments coming in and out of New Orleans by a company named GesCourier.

Richard Miller’s vision

Unlike the other Hunters who saw aspects of their own lives while trapped in the House of Truth and Lies, Richard Miller saw 3 scenes that seemed to have nothing to do with his past.

The armies of Andrew Jackson attacking New Orleans at the conclusion of the War of 1812 with weapons of fantastical creation.

A great stone tower collapsed at the height of the battle, turning completely into dust under cannon onslaught.

Modern-day New Orleans covered in mold. The levees are failing and an impossibly black Mississippi River is flooding the city. Richard believes he saw the boat of Charon overturned in the river.

The Device

At the rear of the Krewe of Pan’s theater-lair stood a very out-of-place brushed metal door untouched by the decay that plagued the rest of Six Flags New Orleans. The lock looked of different construction and was opened by an odd rook-shaped key. Behind the door and down a steep staircase stood a cool, sterile space humming with energy holding an odd device, half machine and half distillation equipment. Much like the door, it showed signs of modification afterwards. The Hunters determined the machine was siphoning energy from the Krewe above into sealed canisters. Thanks to Richard Miller’s insight, they were able to dramatically increase this siphoning effect and drain the creatures of all energy (and luckily shut the machine down afterwards).

The Krewe of Pan

The leader of the Krewe, Billie Lambert, ranted about how the Krewe had gone through divine uplifting, a transubstantiation through their sacrifice for Lent that allowed them to feed not on the flesh of “the cattle”, but on their emotions. This seemed to be true, as Mal didn’t notice any long-term health effects to Rene Blanchard from the feeding.

Littered around her throne were the twisted remains of Krewe members who did not survive the process.

Other parts of her rant included calling the Hunters the pawns of the Key and slaves to a dark Patron.

Storyteller: Justin

Dark fairies are showing up and murdering people because of it. Psychics feel it thrumming just at the edge of sight, warping their dreams. Spirits of the land whisper the news of it across the hills. Despite this, all we know is some terrible sickness is grinding up this part of the world. However, though we may be blind, we are far from helpless. We’re a crack team of hunters, explorers, and scientists. The Empire Foundation is going to root out this Sickness, find what caused it, and then cure it. If you would like to help, report to Tina Murphy in Hill Valley.

Hunters

Major Clues

A pact exists between the fae, the spirits, and the humans of Hill Valley. As long as the Rourkes exist, the land is nurtured by this. Should the Rourkes die off, the fae will move to take over, directly. Sarah Rourke is the last Rourke.

Machines just outside of reality were capturing souls of those associated with Hill Valley that died. Those that it captured were stuffed into a program to think that they were in Heaven as they were slowly devoured.

Alexander Carfax, an old vampire, spoke of the Patron moving forward to end the world.

Hill Valley, SC

Taz hung up the phone, wincing as she heard the change in Granger’s voice, and stared into the dark, tangled forest just outside the old Rourke Estate. The revulsion that rose up at the thought of running into the redcap Jack Scarlet (no, Jack was the vampire, Tom is the redcap, the blood just smells similar) again broke the spell of fascination that wove itself around her, though, and she shuddered, turning away.

Fresh blood. Old, cold iron. What have I done?

I helped bring back the Dullahan. Susan wouldn’t have made it to the tree, didn’t have the strength to raise her bloody hand to it. What have I done?

What else have I done?

Dr. Mal said she thought she could bring back Susan’s memories, make her right again, make her nobody’s puppet. Dr. Mal is busy right now, saving her, probably trying to calm down Eva, probably trying to forget poisonous fangs buried in her abdomen. Leave her alone for now. (But I can’t I need to know I need to know now how long has it been what was taken from me what have I done what)

Taz turned toward the Camaro, running a hand alongside the freshly repaired door where the four (four?) Triple Threat women had burst out of this forest, intent on Susan’s murder, and slammed into it before unleashing a brutal attack of machine guns, sticks, stones, and coffee. The coffee almost did us in. Too many players, too many questions. Time to take a drive.

**********************************

Ten hours, four hitch-hikers, six roadside repairs of stranded motorists, and four Red Bulls later, Taz dropped through the ceiling panel of the Empire’s newest building into the antechamber of Dr. Skaar’s less publicly known office, waving to the secretary as various laser sights attempted and failed to train on her body. A slight twitch of the shoulders, followed by an dignified but affable nod, were the only reactions from the secretary, but her closed-circuit monitor showed a minor ruckus in one of the rooms on the next floor down.

“Dr. Skaar, Tazendra Crow is here to see you. It also appears the new hire for security failed to read his briefing on Ms. Crow. His supervisor has been informed and it will be noted on his record once he regains consciousness.”

Dr. Skaar, finishing up his notes on the next set of security updates needed, nodded in greeting as Taz entered the room, still dusting off her shoulders while absentmindedly smiling hello. Drinks were offered and poured, and Taz settled down on the floor for a more complete debriefing of the situation in Hill Valley. Skaar listened patiently, but Taz realized that she was veering away from the very reason she’d taken this trip. Focus, girl. This is important. This is sharp fangs in black oil important. Cold iron, fresh blood, gleaming white teeth, floating…”Excellent job, Miss Crow!” What was it? Why did I come up…oh!

Taz pulled a dull metal orb, barely the size of a golf ball and eminently unnoticeable, out of her pocket. A slight tap of her finger sent it into the air, silently drifting toward the man leaning against the edge of his desk. Skaar held out his hand as it came to rest on the tips of his fingers and looked quizzically at his friend. “I was watching one of your interviews and thought you could use this. It’s kind of like a portable green screen, lighting adjuster, and vocal resonator. It’s attuned to your fingerprints now, and as you speak, well…say something dramatic and see what happens.”

Half an hour and several performances later, Taz hauled herself up from the floor and grinned at her…employer? Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m employed here.

“I’m real glad you like it, Dr. Skaar. Let me know how it works out with your next interview.”

“Taz, one question. Actually two. Why do you always call me Dr. Skaar? I appreciate the respect, but after working, and fighting, together for so long, you should know you don’t need to be so formal. Just Skaar is fine.”

“I…what? Oh! No, it’s just like what I call Dr. Mal. I mean, the Dr. part just kind of goes with the rest of the name, you know? Kind of an unusual name, though, huh? I mean, Tazendra isn’t exactly common, but I’ve never met anyone name Skaar befo-”

Taz’s words died out as she glanced up, and then around, the office. The executive desk dominating the space was flanked on both sides by a luxurious span of oak bookshelves full of leatherbound tomes, a set of genteelly weathered armchairs, and an array of plaques, awards, and certificates of merit and appreciation, all bearing the name “Dr. Adrian Skaar.” The pause turned into increasingly embarrassed silence as Skaar patiently continued to sip from his glass and realization dawned on Taz’s face.

“Adrian.”

“Yes.”

“…”

“I knew that.”

“Of course”

“So…yeah. Um, Dr. Adria-uh-Skaar-uh, goddammit…”

“Just Skaar is fine if you happen to remember it.”

“Thanks. Guess I better get back to Hill Valley and get things ready for Granger…Granger? Right. Granger”

She was almost at the door when, “Second question: why did you really come up to see me, Taz?”

(What? Why did I? I already said…no. No, I didn’t. And why didn’t I)

“I need help. I want my memories back. This is important. Someone took them from me and I need to know why. Can you help me?”

Summary: Team entered underworld and successfully sealed the M Street Bridge. Multiple sources of physical, and video, evidence collected (submitted to all three factions of Contingent). Additionally, two trapped child spirits were freed from the underworld and allowed to move onto their rightful rest.

HIGHESTIMPORTANCE: There is an issue with gates world-wide. Demons are pushing through, it is already happening regularly in Jerusalem. Apparently, Thurisaz, and possibly other foundation/companies like them, are attempting to stop this from happening.*

Reason:
There were reports of the famous M Street Bridge Stagecoach occurring every night. Normally the reports would fall on only full moons.

There were reports of joggers avoiding the area even during the day. A corporate backer of the Contingent (Thurisaz) has asked us to locate a missing contractor (Father Raymond Brest) who had been assisting them with their investigation of the haunting.

Pre-Investigation Work:
Researched the haunting using contacts in the media and online occult community.
Drove to the location to bring all my gear (note: later realized I forgot my lock pick kit)
Contacted locate ASI rep for assistance in finding safe lodgings in the area.

Investigation Day 1 – Friday Apr 24:

Met at Bert’s BBQ per the invitation, investigators included: Becca Smith, Claire Hollingworth, Gunther Behringer, Lisa Morrow, Reyna Parker, and me. We discussed strategies and how we were going to approach the issue. We then split up to follow up on different leads.

I had gone to install the camera at the bridge, having received permits prior. My prior investigation had turned up reports of a Masonic investigation into old stones still incorporated into the bridge, and then a construction company appearing a few weeks later. (Photos of the stones and runes attached, as well as appendix on the construction company that altered the runes)

After I had requested from the permits office information on the company and completed the video work around the park the team gathered to share information.

It was identified by various team members that:

Large excrement (horse sized) that was identified as “kind of canine” was found in the park. Samples were surrendered by the local vet. (Samples sent to all groups)

Confirmation that Jillian Mosaddegh, of Thurisaz, had hired Father Raymond Brest to investigate the DC gate on the M Street bridge and try to stop the failing gate local to her branch office.

She also provided a USB with video of a gate failing in the Jerusalem (See Attachment A)

Offered 250,000 donation to Empire Foundation green efforts if we found what happened to Father Brest and closed the M Street Gate

HIGHIMPORTANCE: Implication is gates are failing world-wide. That M Street Bridge is one of many that her corporation, and possibly others, are trying to fix/seal!!!

Joggers had indeed witnessed the stagecoach near midnight. When it arrived four ghostly figures had boarded, then the coach turned and returned back to mists.

A copy of Father Brest’s book on Masonic Symbolism and different types of gates.

From the book 6 copper coins, appear to be pure and historic in nature. (Photos attached)

That night several of set up camp at the bridge. We saw the stagecoach appear at one end of the bridge and come towards us. As it stopped four ghostly figures appeared from our end of the bridge and started to approach it. That is when Claire, Lisa and I in excitement ran forward. (See video of entire exchange from multiple angles). We essentially “RSVP’d” for the following night, a party of six.

While this is occurring the “gate” end of the bridge had something massive pawing and pushing, trying to get through the barrier between worlds. A feeling of hostile intent was felt emanating from it.

The coach collected its passengers, each paying a copper coin, then turned before racing back down towards the opposite end. Once it reached the gate it disappeared and the night returned to normal.

Verified this was all captured on the cameras and gear present.

Day 2 – Feb 25:

Excited to have this reservation with the ghostly stagecoach we prepared the following day for the approaching midnight.

We rode in the carriage through the gate and into what can be best described a hellish echo of DCs past., Several investigators took samples, covertly, of the coach (Submitted to all three groups) The driver not seem to notice, or care, and did not respond to conversation other to say he would be waiting for us when we were ready to leave. And to ask which direction to go once we reached a crossroads.

At the crossroads we chose to go left, since we were going to attend the party the coach driver mentioned. We arrived at a country manor house with blood red lighting outside and an ominous doorway. Over the door was an arch with various runes, all resembling those that Brest had in his books and those resembling the key symbol of the Patron.

Of importance was a slot that appeared to be made like a keyhole at the top of the archway.

We were greeted by a rather gentile man, appeared to be working in a butler’s capacity, and introduced himself as “Cyrus.”

He mentioned that the master was not currently present, but seemed anxious about the state of his home and the chores remaining before the party guests were to arrive. (See video of the “state of the home”) The house was in utter disrepair, covered in ichor dripping from nearly every surface, with dust and grime on everything else.

We offered to help Cyrus with his work before the other guests arrived. He seemed happy with this and asked us to retrieve a key from the Master’s Study. It was on the third floor, and Cyrus mustn’t go in that room. And, of course as we all tried to make our way there the ghostly realm manor assaulted us in various ways including Fire (Frame of video depicting Becca on fire while Claire takes a picture of Ice in Hell), rattling stairs (a POV shot that makes it obvious someone has fallen), rocking floor boards ( picture of something that resembles the balance bars that rock from American Gladiators or Ninja Warrior), and a door that refused to open.

The door was ultimately forced open and the key Cyrus wanted was found, along with a letter (picture included) that was Cyrus’s confession to hating his master, all of his decadence, and those he associated with. Ultimately that is what let Cyrus to poison his master and those attending a dinner one night.

That is when things got weird for us… for me. I received the key after it was thrown down the stairs, and was suddenly overwhelmed by the sheer force of Cyrus’s will and compelled to lock out the guests. Using it on the door, not the archway where the runes was. Realizing that Cyrus was the monster in this den Lisa ran to stop me. We ended up in a struggle on the floor just in front of the doorway. Someone took the key from me, my camera didn’t catch it and I can’t remember.

The guests arrived at that moment, and started in a vengeful manner to drag Cyrus away from us. As his screaming from was pulled from our dogpile he grabbed hold of my arm to try and avoid his fate. (Video attachment does not show this, it shows from camera angles that Cyrus cursed that he would share Cyrus’s fate).

We used the key on the archway and the damaged runes there repaired themselves. As we left, assuming we were done only to be disappointed once we reached the road. There was no coach to be found. We continued till we went to the crossroads. We saw light in the other direction and recalled the words that he would return when we were ready to make the trip home.

Traveling towards the light we found the “Green House,” a verdant and lush place with an attached hot house, and a doorway.

Alas, our key didn’t fit. This one was a different shape. There we entered the arboretum, and encountered two children that wanted to play and a large plant in the center. We quickly discovered that we were now locked in, and the plant seemed to be getting some kind of control over Reyna as she was the first to walk over.

We quickly sprang into action, though this seemed to provoke the children. Their peaches turning to organs dripping blood as their faces morphed into something monstrous. The space we were in turned horrid and in bad repair.

It was seen in the center of this giant pitcher plant there was a man.

However, several of us had knives and we worked to cut down the plant at its root. While we did this, and Reyna was under its control, Claire kept the children distracted by talking and playing with them. In fact she was so good with them that they reverted to their child like way and seemed to bond.

While the plant was cut down we were able to pull the man from it and confirm it was the still, barely, living form of Brest. From this point forward we essentially had to carry him out.

It was after we cut down the plant that we found the key and the nursery opened. Using this second key, the one good leaf (see video, entire leaf submitted to ASI) on the runes as the pivot to repair them before departing.

We were to the crossroads again when we saw the ride home off in the distance, waiting for us but not nearing. Unsure we heard stomping and huffing behind us. We saw what could only be described as Cerberus-type hell hound (See picture and video).

It chased us as we tried to make our way to the gate. We ended up outsmarting it though, leading it on a chase through the echoes of DC we found an alley that was too tight for its monstrous form to get through. This gave us just enough time to reach the portal home and escape.

We are now fairly certain based on evidence, follow up, and “gut feeling” that the M Street Bridge is repaired for now.

Father Brest appears to be recovering nicely, Chris (the vet) may be a future resource for us, and my arm is recovering nicely from the demon scratches.

Appendix – Construction Company That Altered the Gate Wards on M Street BridgeLLC called GesWorks that was formed about six months before the project and dissolved almost immediately afterwards. The address and contact info are a PO box in Red Wing, MN under the name Allan Smithers. From what Harry can discern, Smithers is not a real person at all and the PO box has never been checked since it was first opened.

Video – There is complete video of the entire expedition from multiple angles. Other Evidence – Demon Dog Excrement, Wood from the Coach

“And that is how I single-handedly saved a bus full of small school children.” Granger finished his story and poured the shot of tequila setting it between him and Forsetti.

“Single-handedly? Booooooo!” Leanna shouted in mock disgust at the pun.

Granger sat at the head of the large picnic table, locking eyes with Forsetti, trying his hardest not to laugh at Leana’s protest or show any sign that would give away his bluff. Forsetti returned his gaze and then looked away shaking his head. He pointed at Leana and then Granger still shaking his head.

Dain popped him upside the back of the head. “Turn in, Simon. Before your mouth writes a check your ass can’t cash.”

The rest of the pack snickered as they began cleaning up the bottles and glasses from the night’s fun. That’s how most nights had gone since Granger came to visit. His first vacation since he began working as a contractor for security at Clover Leaf after the events of last year. It was great to get out of town and see Leanna instead of her having to come to him for a change. He loved it here. The fresh air and relative quietness. The steady breeze. The hard work during the day and relaxing nights. Reminded him of growing up on the outer banks.

“You know you could just stay, right?” Leanna said looking up at him as they walked.

“Man I can’t even hide my thoughts, huh?”

She gave him a look that said, “Not on your best day,” and then a hug that said “but that’s what I like about you.”

“Dain’s right. You’re real bad at lying, dude.”

“OK yes. I would love to just stay. For lots of reasons. But I can’t leave my friends to fight the fight alone. There’s big things brewing and people like us are all that stands between that dark tide and innocent people. I can’t back away from that. Not yet.”

“I know. I don’t think I’d like you as much if that weren’t the case.” Her hug tightened.

Granger’s phone rang, filling the otherwise quiet night with the main theme to the game “Robot Unicorn Attack.”

“Really?” Leanna said more at the song than the phone interruption.

Granger gave Leanna a quick kiss on the forehead and then answered the phone.

“Yo, Taz! What’s…” Granger was cut off mid sentence. His face went pale as the moon.
“Yeah…yeah I’ll head back now.” He slowly lowered the phone and looked at the sky lost in thought. His gears already turning. Planning.

“Dude. What’d she say?” Leanna said genuinely worried seeing the look on his face.

Mal stumbled out of the cave and ran past Miles, fighting back the urge to vomit. Except there’s nothing left; it’s all on the floor of the cave. She sat down and ran her fingers clinically over her abdomen and lower back, checking for signs of swelling or bruising, but finding nothing. The fact that she found no signs of anything being wrong made her panic even more. She reached into an inside pocket of her med kit and pulled out a burner cell. She waited for it to power up, trying to keep her breathing under control.

She turned away from the Camero, speaking quickly and softly. “Hi Eva, it’s me. I just…can you call me as soon as you get this?” Her voice wavered. “I’ll explain later, but…I almost had to send the email. Just, please, as soon as you’re done…”

“I have to go. I love you.” She finished the call and slid the device back into her pocket, noticing that the front of her shirt was covered with blood and vomit. With trembling fingers she unbuttoned it and folded it neatly before sliding it into a larger evidence bag. The tank top underneath also bore some bloodstains, but it couldn’t be helped. She shouldered her kit and got into the backseat of the Camaro just as Taz hit the gas, sending dust spinning out behind them. She fiddled with the hem of the tank, thinking, This is Eva’s. She glanced over at Susan, who seemed to be having a serious conversation with Darren. Later, she thought. Focus. Right now we have a job to do. Let Susan do the ritual without killing herself. We can do this.

Mal watched as a team of nurses and doctors descended on Susan, moving her from the hospital bed to a stretcher that would wheel her out to the waiting helicopter, to take her back to WakeMed. She wanted to yell and scream at them, tell them to wait. They didn’t know about her labs or organ failure. They didn’t know what was done to her mind, how the false memories were implanted. But she remained silent. She had tried that earlier, and she was told that if she didn’t calm down they would remove her from the hospital. So she sat, holding Susan’s hand, and waited until they came for her.

She stood in the doorway as Susan was wheeled away. “I can’t help you right now, but I will find a way. I promise.” Her declaration was drowned out by the sound of a helicopter taking off. She sighed, and moved to grab her kit from the chair when her phone rang. It was an incoming call from Jason Scott. It was pure luck that her assistant Chelsea had found him, in a list of possible Empire Foundation contacts that could help her. There were rumors going around that his research project was not going as well as he had hoped, mostly due to lack of funding. Her offer to divert some of her funding to him, and a promise of a future favor, had opened a lot of doors. She steeled her voice before answering. “Doctor Cunningham.”

“So, I couldn’t get the coroner’s office to release the bodies for us,” Jason said without preamble. “However, they agreed to let us take some samples for additional testing—and maybe, if you play nice, they’ll let you have a look. I can’t guarantee anything, though. I had to pull a lot of strings for this, so you owe me big time.”

While she would have liked to do the autopsies herself, she knew she would have to take what she could get. “Alright. I can work with samples. It’s not ideal, but I’ve worked with much less before.”

“Also, you’re probably aware, but there were multiple explosions at Cloverleaf. Things are kind of hectic here, so don’t count on being able to get lab space. You can either run your samples at the coroner’s office, or get them shipped back to New York.”

She sighed, and made a mental note to call Chelsea. “Okay. Well, thanks again.”

“Sure. Hey, say I wanted to cash in my favor now, would you consider lending me your assistant? Some time away from the big city would do her good.”

As soon as she hung up with Jason, her phone rang again, this time from an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Mal? Oh my God,mami! I was so worried! When you didn’t answer the other phone…I’m so glad to hear your voice. Creía que you were…Are you okay? Where are you? Are you in a hospital?”

Oh god, I didn’t call Eva. Why didn’t I call her? I was busy with Susan trying to keep her stable. But I should have called her right away. That’s what normal people do right? Call their girlfriend first?

“Yes, I’m in the hospital.” As soon as the words escaped, she realized it was the wrong thing to say. “Let me rephrase, I’m physically at the hospital, but I’m not a patient. Eva, calm down, I’m okay.”

“You left me a message, on the emergency phone, que you were going to send THE email, which means que you thought you were going to die. And you just expect me to calm down? No, I won’t fucking calm down. And why the hell would you say that and now all of a sudden you are okay? No, Mal—you don’t go from ‘I’m dying’ to ‘I’m fine’ just like that. Unless…” Mal swore she could hear Eva putting two and two together. “What the fuck did you do?”

“I…” She tried to get her mouth to form the words, but they wouldn’t. She didn’t know how to explain how she felt the snake’s fangs sink into her skin, The burning pain that followed as the poison coursed through her veins. Doubling over and vomiting blood, gobs of it getting stuck in her hair. Looking down in horror to see that her whole abdomen was swollen, and the dark red bruising was spreading way too fast. Trying to turn her focus inward to try to identify exactly what organs were damaged, but not being able to tell, because the only thing her brain could process was pain. The realization that she had fifteen minutes at most before she bled out completely. Struggling to get her phone out of her pocket and open the email app, but the touchscreen wasn’t working because she’d smeared blood all over it. Taz holding the apple out to her, waiting for her permission. Making the decision without knowing the consequences, because she wasn’t ready to die, not yet. Her teeth piercing the ripe flesh of the fruit, and as she swallowed, all of the pain receding.

You almost died again. You keep making the same mistakes, running straight into danger, messing with things you can’t possibly understand. You will never learn, and next time you won’t have anyone there to save you. You are going to rush headlong into death, you foolish, foolish girl.

Eva shouting at her broke her train of thought. “Mal, are you still there? Díme algo, tell me what’s going on. Because I’ve got a million and one things going through my head y no hay nada bueno.”

Mal shuddered as she realized that they had been here once before. They had had this exact same conversation. Still she managed to force the words out. “I didn’t want to die, not like that. What I did…I’ll figure it out, but I didn’t want to die.”

“Hey, hey—Mal. It’s okay. Look, I’m sorry, you just had me so scared. We don’t have to talk now, just tell me what you need.”

Mal wrapped her arms around herself to try to stop shaking. “Can, you come pick me up? I need you here. And…I just want to go home.”

“Yeah, of course, I’m leaving right now. I want you to go someplace safe—go to Granger’s and stay there, okay?”

Now that she knew Eva was coming, all of the tension receded and exhaustion claimed her. “Yeah, okay. I could probably use a nap. And a shower.” She grimaced as she ran her fingers through her blood matted hair. “There is blood…” She stopped short at the pained sound that Eva made. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. I’m grabbing my stuff and going to Granger’s.”

“You better. And stay there, okay? Promise me.”

“I promise.”

Eva paused. “You know I love you, right? I didn’t think I’d get to tell you that again.”

“I know, and I love you too.”

“Okay, well, I’ll see you in a few hours. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

After she hung up with Eva, she got a text from Chelsea. Courier on its way to the coroner’s office. Get all the samples you need and they’ll make sure everything gets back to the lab.

She paused before sending a quick text back. Thank you. Will see you soon.

She had totally forgotten about the dead members of the Triple Threat. But she needed to look at the bodies and get samples if she was going to make any headway on her other problem. She rubbed at the mark on her palm self-consciously as she made a rough estimate in her head. Getting from New Orleans to Hill Valley probably would take about eight to ten hours, so she could expect Eva in five. It would be cutting it close, but she should be able to get what she needed and make it back to Granger’s in time. She grabbed her med kit and put everything else out of her mind, except what was in front of her.

Okay, what do I need? Blood samples, and bone samples of the one who looked crushed. If I can’t get a look at the body, x-rays might work. Photos too, of any distinct markings. I think I saw a key, and a… She looked down at her palm, which bore the three-eyed marking. We’ll need scrapings of those definetly. It looked like a rash, not as defined as Susan’s. There is something going on here, I just have to find it. I don’t know what these corpses will tell me, but it’s a place to start. Maybe I can get them to release the body—what did Jason say, to play nice?

God preserve us from crazy people

I arrived at the Cloverleaf Compound in Hill Valley, SC with a bit of
trepidation. It was my first mission with The Contingent. Susan Rourke had been stashed in a holding room under the compound having come running in the front a few days earlier yelling about some key and the Patron. When the six
Contingent agents when down to her cell to talk to her. After a crazy
discussion, part of the compound exploded Susan escaped out of a caved in wall. Thomas chased her down and followed her into the woods. She said she
had told us she was following the bird to the twins so she can kill the
snake and free the bear. A few of us got stopped by and had a chat with
Whim, the Fate Mage who tried to play games with us. But we were on a
mission. Susan got to the twins, which turned out to be a waterfall and
started a ritual that opened the wall behind the falls. At that point in
time, Miles, Taz and Mal joined Thomas to go help Susan. During this time Virgil and I had an interesting conversation with Tom Scarlett, the local Red Cap with a scary axe at the foot of a Life Tree on a local estate. Taz et al went into the cave after Susan only to run immediately out being
chased by some huge polluted water snake spirit that tried to kill them. It
about killed and possessed Mal, but Taz fought it off while Susan finished
her ritual killing the snake. Taz et al again piled into her Camaro and
drove down to me Virgil and I. As they got near, a big black Humvee careened out of the trees and tried to T-bone the car. After some wild heroics by
yours truly and Virgil the Hobo King, the crash was almost entirely abated.
But out popped three girls (with ta fourth still in the Humvee) yelling
something about them being the “Triple Threat” and we are about to get “boned.” What the hell is wrong with people these days? I think they need to go to church more. A crazy fight ensues in which I (against my better judgment and nature) attempt to physically assault one of these women and get decked 15ft across the yard, nearly killing me. That wasn’t natural. But Tom Scarlett came when my compatriots called for him and he helped us finish the fight. In the meantime Susan Rourke was injured and managed to get her blood on the tree which surprisingly healed the land of some sort of blight
it was experiencing. So all in all, an interesting experience. God preserve
me if something like that happens again.

Gunther Behringer Journal Entry

Overall, I found my time in hell more enjoyable than I would have expected. I’m sure prior consideration would have been of a more thoroughly unpleasant experience, but it had bright points. The coachman was kindly, and the experience of the ride memorable and not unpleasant. The home and the children playing at the greenhouse were the kind of memories ideal childhoods are made of. We saved a priest and two child-spirits. That certainly counts as the best of times.

Children eating hearts. That was the worse of times. Mothers, don’t let your children grow up eating disembodied hearts with their demon fangs. More on that later.

I said “we”- it was a team effort, more than I, or likely any of us, could have achieved alone. Reyna found the key, Lisa pulled Father Raymond out of the plant-beast and Clair convinced the children to help us escape. We saved those we could, sealed the gate… and I lost the key.

I couldn’t focus, because I got to thinking about how the kid’s faces deformed. Did that hurt? Will they remember that happened to them, when they are all grown up and trying to do a transsphenoidal pituitary extraction, and lose their focus mid-procedure?

No, it’s definitely not time to return. Not yet. I need to work on my focus. Maybe medication will help…

Storyteller: Justin

“Hey there. We’ve got a crazy woman here who I think y’all will be pretty interested in. She came running into the lobby of Cloverleaf HQ hollerin’ about “The Key,” and doomsday, and a few other wild things. Ordinarily, I would have tossed her out, but two things stuck out to me. The first is that this is Susan Rourke and her family goes way back in this town. The second is I read about that key symbol that the Patron uses, and when someone as dark as the Patron is involved, I don’t like to take chances. I can only keep this quiet for so long before authorities start poking their nose, so if you want to know more, you need to come quick.”

Hunters

Major Clues

Susan Rourke

A troubled woman who underwent unlawful medical experiments. She possesses psychic acuity and fragmented memories of the Patron’s location. Her memories were scrambled to the point of her almost killing herself, however, the players stopped that. Unfortunately, she was caught a hail of machine gun fire from the Triple Threat and fell into a coma.

Project Chimera

Possibly two factions of Project Chimera showed up in response to Susan Rourke arriving: Whim, and the Triple Threat. Whim wanted to guide her away. Triple Threat wanted to eliminate her.

Sickness

The hunters were warned by Rourke that there was a terrible Sickness in Hill Valley that was part of something larger to destroy the world. Rourke and the hunters restored a pact between the faeries and the Rourkes to help the land, but this won’t stop the Sickness directly.

Storyteller: Johnathan

Through email, text message, or just the telephone, you’ve received a message from a Contingent contact in New Orleans. He directed you to a YouTube clip of pre-Mardi Gras celebrations on Bourbon Street. Drunk people were shouting and aping for the camera when a bright flash washed out the image. Once the camera auto-corrects, people were quickly backing away from a man completely engulfed in fire. The man falls to his knees and… dissolves. The blinding flames quickly gutter out and there’s simply nothing there but some soot and black scorching.

“We’ve had a handful of these the last week.” he explains after the video stops. “So far, we’ve been able to convince people it’s some street magician tryin’ to make a name for himself. But Mardi Gras is two days out an’ they’re getting more n’ more frequent. We need to find out what’s causing people to just burst into flames before the streets are so packed you can’t move.”

Hunters

Major Clues

Strange New Drug

The hunters found a new party drug on the market in New Orleans named Usturanol. Its slogan is “Unlock Your Nightlife” and the blister pack has a large tower with doors swung open. A key floats in the open doorway. This opening frames the spot where the pill will pop through the foil. Checking the packaging against other hunter records after leaving New Orleans confirms it is a close match to the Key symbol used by the Patron.

GesChem National

GesChem National, the maker of the now defunct Filexa, is the maker of Usturanol. GesChem has been recently bought by another company. The Hunters intend to track down this parent company later when time allows.

Storyteller: Richard

Hauntings in Washington D.C. are no new thing—but in the last month, sightings of ghosts in the city’s northwest quadrant have spiked dramatically. Joggers and tourists are avoiding Rock Creek Park during daylight hours, and people besides the usual drunks and crazies say they’ve seen the infamous Phantom Stagecoach of the M Street Bridge. Usually the stagecoach only shows up on nights when the moon is full…and it’s been seen by someone every night for the past week.

A corporate backer of the Contingent has asked us to find a contractor they hired to investigate the source of the hauntings—he disappeared several nights ago shortly after the stagecoach was sighted. Reach out to local contacts within our compacts and gather as much intel as you can beforehand so that you aren’t going in blind.

Hunters

Major Clues

The stone-carved Masonic wards sealing shut the Avernian Gate on the M Street bridge were deliberately weakened during unpermitted maintenance by a contracted work crew. The existing wards were marred by a pattern of sinister key-shaped symbols.

The paper trail on just who hired this work crew was a complete dead-end: false names attached to an LLC called GesWorks that has seemingly dissolved and left behind no traceable information.

Representatives from the George Washington Masonic National Memorial sent a permitted crew to the site a few weeks prior to the rogue crew’s visit. They were clearly there to refurbish the carvings, so it seems unlikely that the D.C. Freemasons conspired with this other crew to weaken the wards.

The key symbols had also been carved into similar weakened wards over the entrances to the two realms of the Underworld that the hunters visited—Cholera and Phlegmos.

This has all been wonderful, but now I’m on my way

Aaron Mathias pulled off his jacket and hung it on a hook behind the door in the laboratory, then sat down on the narrow but comfortable bed in the center of the coolly-lit sleep chamber. Lying on a table next to the bed was an injector gun and several cylinders of liquid.

Ken Yakana paged him on the intercom system from the adjoining observation room through the double-paned glass. “Be careful in there—I want you coming out of this alive, bro. No way am I gonna let Natalie blame it on me if you get killed. I’ve sparred with her before, and she can outrun me, even in high heels.”

Aaron laughed. “Smart guy. Alright, I’ll give it a shot, then…literally.” He picked up the injector and inserted the first vial. Pressing the injector needle to a vein in his left arm, he took a deep breath and pulled the trigger, then swapped in the next two cylinders in the series and repeated the process.

The blackness of sleep claimed Aaron quickly, and he awoke next to the door inside his dream pod. Open Me, said the familiar hand-printed sign.

He did.

The crudely-handpainted wooden sign nailed to the red-barked tree pointing further down the path ahead of Aaron and into the violet twilight read ‘TULGEY WOOD’. He snorted derisively; the resident of this area did love to keep up appearances, but Aaron knew now who he really was, and he intended to use that as leverage to get a favor. No, not a favor—a squaring of a debt, he thought. As Aaron stepped into the shadowy entrance to the thickest part of the woods framed by the pair of scarlet trees, a multitude of colorful fuzzy creatures scampered out of his way and into the lush green grass.

Scarcely a hundred feet into the woods, Aaron stopped in his tracks, surveying the surroundings. There was no visible sign of the creature he’d come here to visit, but he knew it was close by from the tracks he’d spotted in the smudged golden dirt of the pathway. “I call thee forthwith, Pangur Bán!” Aaron shouted into the darkness of the woods. “Reveal thyself, Pangur Bán!” he commanded a second time. “Get thy fluffy ass out here posthaste before I lure a jabberwock hatchling here to do it for me, Pangur Bán!” he intoned decisively.

A trail of luminescent blue and gray pawprints padded across a purple-boughed branch nearby, then dribbled deliberately down the red bark of the tree and into the path before Aaron. The pawprints stopped several feet in front of him; some three feet above them a toothy grin, not quite feline nor human, materialized in mid-air. A pair of wide, expressive greenish-yellow eyes followed, and then a frame of long white fur mottled with tabby-like splashes of silver filled in around the facial features. A massive cat the size of a healthy panther stood in the pathway, settled on its haunches, bottlebrush tail twitching as it licked a paw. “Do you mind, dreamseer, taking care so as not to shout my name quite so loudly? Someone might hear you, and that would be most inconvenient for me. How did you even come by that information, anyhow?”

“The funny thing about poking around in someone’s head, Cheshire,” Aaron said flatly, “is that sometimes they can poke back.”

“Well, that’s rather rude,” Pangur Bán responded, laying down on the path and rolling on his back, but rotating his neck fully 180 degrees so as to maintain a level stare on Aaron. “After all, dreamseer, you did agree to let me in for a peek. ‘Twas the price for my help when last we met, if you’ll recall.”

“Oh, I did agree to that, Cheshire,” Aaron conceded, his jaw set aggressively as he spoke through half-gritted teeth. “But you took liberties. Several times over the last few months I found the door in my pod had been left open. Once or twice, things even got in and waited for me until I went to sleep. That’s quite a bit more than peeking, I’d say. You took more than you bargained for, cat—which means you owe me.”

“I owe you, you say?” Pangur Bán sprang upright to his feet, his head never reorienting with his body, but his grin grower wider and more menacingly feral as he bared his front claws. “And just how do you plan to collect on that debt, mortal?”

“Simple,” Aaron responded, his hand dropping to the gladius strapped to his belt. “You do a favor for me, right now—and then stay out of my head for good—and I won’t tell my other friends in your world that you overstepped your bounds. Right now, back in my world, there’s a package—sealed, addressed, and stamped—containing bits of your fur and a piece of a momerath kill that you left in my bedroom. Anything happens to me in here, and it gets shipped right to one of Sorni’s emissaries.”

The mention of a senior fae made the cat’s fur bristle anxiously. Aaron hadn’t thought it possible for the cat’s eyes to grow any wider than they already were, but that threat definitely got a response. Pangur Bán closed his eyes, narrowed his smile, and bowed his head in the closest approximation of contrition he could possibly muster, then hopped back up the trunk of the tree and onto his branch perch, leaving crimson pawprints in his wake this time. “Alright, dreamseer,” the cat said with a grin. “You’ve caught me red-handed. Just what is it you need me to do in order to clear up this little misunderstanding?” He crossed his front paws beneath his chin and waited.

Karen Sugimoto sobbed helplessly in a sweltering nightmare of orange twilight. A garden of dead, half-rotten trees and thorny white rose bushes surrounded the stone bier on which she lay. A fetid, musky smell lingered in the garden; it reminded her of a pet lizard her first-grade teacher had kept in their classroom. Hot stone pressed into her back, and sweat pooled on the smooth surface of her exposed belly and chest. Pain rippled through her forehead a mere inch above her eyebrows, a searing slash that ached. Her hands and feet were bound to her sides, anchored to the stone bier by heavy chains.

A creature loomed over Karen—a full six feet tall, a chimeric horror with the torso and head of a strikingly beautiful but pale woman with long red hair, black hollow eyes, and a mouth brimming with needlelike fangs. A smooth, legless lower body covered in brilliant gold and black scales stretched out some seven feet behind it.

It slithered closer, running a taloned finger across the gaping wound torn into Karen’s forehead. The young woman gasped in pain, sobbing as the talon dug into the torn flesh of her head, her pain intensifying with every stroke. “Hush now, child. It will all be over soon. I must bleed you slowly, you see, before I extract your third eye. Otherwise all of your precious psyche will be lost, and it simply won’t do to waste a single dram of it.” A forked tongue snaked past the fangs of the creature, and it bent to lap blood from Karen’s head wound. The young woman felt the serpentine tongue run through the triangular-oriented trio of skull-deep oval lacerations carved into her head—and then another voice broke her horrific reverie.

“Nice snack you got there. Sure you wouldn’t prefer a four-course meal?” Karen craned her neck to see the speaker—a young dark-haired man, seemingly in his late 20s with a light growth of beard. He was wearing Chuck Taylors, black denim jeans, and a teal t-shirt with a Celtic design on it that read MacLeod’s Antiquities & Exotic Weapons.

Karen felt the tongue pull away from her forehead. The snake-woman hissed. “Another Seerblooded? You are quite foolish to wander into my demesne alone.” The monstrosity coiled into a striking position.

“Catch me if you can, bitch,” the young man retorted, sprinting away into the woods. The snake-woman slithered off behind him in pursuit, and Karen was alone again. Her breath heaved in momentary relief, but she shuddered to think of what the thing would do to the young man if it caught him.

Long minutes later, Karen heard the other voice again. “Uh, miss? We’ve gotta get you outta here.” She felt a blanket being gently tossed over her, and opened her eyes. The young man had returned, and was trying to pick the locks on her chains.

“Wh-who are you?” Karen asked the man. “How did you get back here so quickly? I thought for sure it was going to kill you!”

“Huh?” He asked bewilderedly. “Oh! Right. You saw the other me. Yeah, that was my decoy. I have, uh…an acquaintance who’s very good at doing impressions, and he owed me a favor,” the man said with a lopsided grin as he raked a scrub pick in the metal cuff, whispering a soft “Aww, yiss” as the lock released, then moving to free her other arm and legs. “I’m Aaron, by the way. You must be Karen.”

“How do you know my name?” Karen asked as she stood from the bier and drew the blanket around herself.

“Some friends of mine have been looking for you for a long time,” Aaron explained, digging into a pocket of his jeans and producing a small drawstring satchel. “You have bad dreams, right? Dreams that sometimes come true? And they’ve been getting worse lately, I’ll bet.”

“It feeds on thoughts,” Aaron explained. “Dreams, nightmares, any kind of psychic energy. It’s been feeding on people like you and me for a really long time. So, my friends and I decided to do something about it.” Aaron opened the satchel and pulled out two tiny glass bottles stoppered with cork and filled with glowing blue liquid, handing one to Karen. Hanging from the necks of both bottles was a tag labeled ‘Drink Me’ in a florid calligraphy script. Below it, in block lettering, was a phone number. “Stare at this number for a few seconds. You need to memorize it. Your memory retention ought to be pretty good right now, but call it as soon as you wake up and ask for Ken. He’ll explain the rest. He’s a good friend, and he can help you like he helped me.” Aaron uncorked one of the bottles, tapped it against hers, and said, “Bottoms up. Oh, and don’t go back to sleep until you’ve talked to him. We need to make sure those things don’t find you in your dreams again—because that trick I just pulled isn’t gonna work more than once.”

Karen hesitated. This was all too weird. She focused on the script, committing the ten digits to memory as best she could, then looked up at the man. “Thank you,” she said. “This has been the weirdest dream ever.”

“You’re telling me,” he said with a grin. “C’mon, drink up. Let’s get you out of here.” Karen tipped back the bottle, swallowed the sweet contents; her field of vision exploded into flashes of blue light. Aaron followed suit, draining the contents of his own bottle.

The dreamscape around them melted away like wet paint in a torrential rainstorm.

Aaron awoke atop sweat-soaked sheets and glanced at the clock. 3:21 am. I was under for nearly four hours that time. He reached for the intercom switch to page Ken, who grinned at him through the booth window. Ken answered almost immediately. “How we doin’, bro?”

“Karen Sugimoto is safe, and probably awake now. Expect her to call your staff shortly. Oh, and your oneiric carrier interruption drug works perfectly. It woke her up right away. Didn’t have to find her dream-pod to send her back, which saved me a lot of time and trouble.”

“Oh, awesome! Told you it’d work!”

“I’m sure as shit glad you were right—otherwise I’d probably be a psychic juice-box for that thing right about now.” Aaron crossed his arms at the wrists and leaned forward on the bed, his expression growing serious. “So, about my fee,” he added emphatically. “Do you want to cut me a check, or do you still have my direct deposit info on file? Because I’m officially done here.”

“Payroll’s already transferred the money to your account, bro. Sure you don’t wanna do a few more runs for me? Sharpe just greenlit my project, and he’s relocating me to D.C. to kickstart a new regional branch there. We could really use—”

Aaron cut him off decisively. “Ken. I told you, dude, it’s over for me now that this is done. And it wasn’t really about the money this time…although I won’t deny that it helps. At least I can finally pay off my credit card.”

“I understand, yo. Thanks for helping us out with this one. So hey, bro, what about that other thing we discussed awhile back? You finally doing it now that you’re out for good?”

Aaron reached into the pocket of his jeans, withdrawing and flipping open a black hinged box that he held up to the observation window; a diamond set in a white-gold band sparkled in the low light of the dream lab. There are some things dreamseers can’t afford without doing dangerous contract work, he thought sardonically. For everything else, there’s MasterCard. “Yep. Gina leaves for San Francisco in the morning, and then the awards show is tomorrow night. Both Natalie’s team and mine are up for nominations this year, so I’m doing it at the after-party.” He snapped the lid of the ring box shut again and replaced it. “It’s time for me to move on, Ken. All this has been…well, not fun exactly, but definitely worth the trouble. But I’m out. No more dreamseeing, no more hunting. Not even as a freelancer.”

Ken smiled. “I figured you’d say that. Can’t blame you, bro. I wish you all the luck in the world tomorrow.” A landline phone rang tinnily in the background of the intercom signal. “Oh, hey, that’s probably Miss Sugimoto now. I gotta run, dude. Hit me up after you drop the bomb and lemme know how it goes, okay? I want an invite if she says yes!”

“Sure thing, man. Take care, Ken—and say hi to Karen for me.”

“You got it, bro. Later.” The comm went dead.

Aaron stood and stretched his back, grabbing his jacket off the hook and hoisting his duffel bag over his shoulder. He needed to get out of ASI headquarters and catch a flight back to Vancouver post-haste. He had a big day coming up tomorrow. It was finally time to make some really good dreams come true.

This message is distributed to Contingent hunters via snail mail, text from blocked numbers, e-mail from blind accounts, and robocalls.

Hunters of the Contingent,

We are in a period of danger, more so than we have ever faced. Already the Frequency has been taken out, and we are on the defensive. However, it is important that we not lose sight of our real mission: to protect the innocent from supernatural threats. And frankly, some of you have been lacking in the protecting department.

We’ve heard stories about hunters making… let’s say “rash decisions”. Putting innocents at risk, causing damage to their property. In some cases, being directly responsible for their deaths. Not because it was one life to save a thousand, or because the hunter just wasn’t good enough to save everyone…. But for expediency. Or to save the hunter’s skin at the sake of someone else’s.

That stops right now.

Some of you are simply inexperienced. If you need training, if you need equipment, we will help you. All you have to do is ask around, put your needs out there.

Some of you need backup. If you are on a mission and you don’t have the resources to make it happen, we will give you a hand if we can, or send you support if we can’t.

Some of you…. Some of you don’t care about collateral damage. If this is you, wise up. Or we will take it upon ourselves to make sure you can’t hurt an innocent ever again.

Sidney Denault sat at the massive desk that filled a large portion of his study in Longue View, his fountain pen quick at work. Others would think it antiquated, but he insisted on handwritten answers to requests for Empire Foundation funding, regardless of the answer. “Nothing is lost to a kind rejection,” he often reminded his assistant.

The sun had long ago set, and a tumbler of something once-iced sat on a coaster just off the leather blotter. From the stack, Mr. Denault had been at work for some time.

A loud commotion just outside the study brought a pause to the pen’s motion. Mr. Denault’s eyes raised to glance out the door, even if his head didn’t.

A thin man in his late 20s stood in the doorframe, his jeans slung far too low and his shirt open. Over his shoulder hung a grimy backpack. The two stared at each other for a moment, a visible power struggle between the two. The youth finally broke the silence. “I’m leaving,” he said through a thick Creole accent.

Denault continued to glare over his glasses. “Rene, you know the rules. Curfew is 10pm. You’re not leaving Longue View until morning.”

Rene bowed his chest and drew himself up to his full height, clearly trying to show dominance. “Fuck you, I’m outta here. Got a better deal than your old ass. Somewhere where I ain’t got curfews like a damn child.”

The sound of Denault’s teeth grinding was audible. Looking down, ink had sprayed across the crisp paper from Denault’s white-knuckled grip on the pen. “And just where is that, Mr. Blanchard. Your parole officer will want to know where to find you.”

Rene seemed pleased to have gotten under Denault’s skin. “Well, her name is Diana. Diana Bettencourt. She’s down from the East Coast for…some business deal, I don’t know. Gonna put me up on her riverboat. And take me back with her when she’s done. I’m finally getting out this shithole.”

“Oh really?” Denault countered. “A riverboat? Son, the only people who use riverboats are those with things to hide. Gambling and harlotry, that’s all that happens on riverboats, and we both know you’re shit at games of chance. So what, Rene, do you think this woman intends for you to do on this riverboat?”

Rene deflated slightly from Sidney’s barbs. “It’s not like that, she said…”

“She’s recruiting the best hustler in New Orleans for what? Company?!” Denault thundered, finally losing control of his temper. “For Christ’s sake, Rene, you’re nearly a year clean after living here—what the hell are you thinking?!”

The young hustler pivoted and marched his way out of the room, slamming the door. A few moments later, the glass tumbler from Denault’s desk smashed against the thick wood. Denault leaned back in the leather desk chair, tossing the fountain pen onto the now-ruined letter. He stared up at the ceiling for several moments, calming himself from the outburst. “Goddamnit, I shouldn’t have pushed him like that,” he muttered.

He strode out of the office, shoes crunching the glass. “And who the hell is Diana Bettencourt?” he shouted to the now-empty house.

Natalie jumped as her phone began to vibrate in her back pocket. The silicone gash she was trying to apply to the actress sitting in the chair fell to the floor.

“Damnit…who could be calling this early?!” Natalie mumbled to herself as she leaned over to pick up the red, gummy piece of material.. One of the few downsides to her job was the 5:00am makeup calls. This meant she had to be at work by 4:30, ready to work on the monster of the week. Pulling her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans, she saw that it was Gina.

“I really need to take this—do you mind?” Natalie gave the actress a pleading look.

“Nah, go ahead. I could use another cup of coffee before we add my fangs.” She smiled at Natalie and took off for the catering table.

Nat answered the call. “Gina? Is everything okay?”

“Of course, hon! I have exciting news—I’m coming to visit you! In fact, I’m at the airport right now, getting a mani/pedi. My flight was delayed, ugh! You would think my psychic powers would help me know about these things, but apparently not.” Gina spoke a mile a minute, and it took Nat a second to reacquaint herself with the woman’s thick Jersey accent.

“That’s great, Gina!” Natalie replied genuinely excited. Then she asked hesitantly, “Is this a work trip?” She knew Aaron had been freelancing for Ken Yakana on the side, and hoped he wasn’t getting roped back into ASI.

“Sort of. Sharpe has purchased that crazy museum in San Francisco, and he offered me a promotion to be the head of ASI’s West Coast branch. You wouldn’t happen to want a new job, would you?” Gina asked, only half-joking.

Natalie looked around at her makeup station. It was cluttered with brushes, tissues, and open eyeshadow palettes; tucked into the frame of the lighted mirror were pictures of her and Aaron. In each one, they had their arms around each other, smiling, making silly faces, or kissing. Just seeing them made Natalie’s heart thrum. “No way, Gina. I’m out, all the way.”

“I figured, but I just had to ask. You and Aaron deserve a happy retirement. I wouldn’t be doing this anymore either if I had to keep going in the field. You’re lucky you got out before…” Gina stopped herself. Every hunter knew their life expectancy was rarely a long one.

“Yeah. I know,” Natalie replied quietly, staring at the chipped glitter polish on her nails.

Gina broke the silence. “Anyways, I’ll be arriving around 1pm your time. Think you or Aaron can pick me up?”

“Aaron should be able to. I’m here until 8 when we wrap up shooting.” She paused for a moment and then continued, “I’m really excited to see you again, Gina. Hey…while you’re here, do you think you can help me figure out what’s going on with Aaron lately? He’s acting all jumpy and weird.”

Gina couldn’t help but smile. Aaron had sent her pictures of the ring for approval. She was so excited for them. “Ehh, I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. I’ll see you tonight! Love ya!”

“Love you too, Gina.” Natalie replied, hitting ‘end’ and sliding her phone back into her pocket. She tried to shake off the guilt she occasionally felt for leaving the Contingent. Still, these past months had been the best she’d had in years. Waking up every day with Aaron next to her, knowing they were safe, was too valuable a thing to give up again. She sent Aaron a quick text: Gina is coming today. Pick her up at 1? Love you!

I'm trying to find my place...

She pressed her manicured fingernail against the doorbell, smoothing down her hair as she waited. A tall, athletic man with light brown skin opened the door. He wore a tight security uniform that showed off his sporty physique.

Gina pushed her cinnamon gum to the side of her mouth with her tongue so she could speak. “Well, hello there! You must be Guy. I think I’ll definitely feel safe with you around. I’m Gina.” She leaned forward, putting her hands on his biceps, and kissed both of his cheeks in a greeting.

Guy leaned back, not having expected such a friendly greeting, blushing in embarrassment when she used her thumb to rub off the lipstick that clung to his left cheekbone.

“Sorry about that!” Gina said with a laugh, pushing her way past him into the entrance of the Musee de Macabre. Her confident gait was broken for a moment, as if a wave of energy had pushed back against her. “O mio Dio!” she exclaimed, perching on the edge of a velvet Victorian-style armchair. “You sure have a lot going on in here!” The amount of spectral energy in the place was almost overwhelming.

Guy nodded, moving behind the black desk that stood at the center of the room. Skulls were carved into the top corners of the heavy piece of furniture. He pulled out a set of keys from a drawer and a ledger. “Mrs. Tarantino, I need you to sign for the keys.”

His voice seemed to ground her back in reality as she closed her eyes for a moment and turned towards him, smiling again. “My, what a sexy accent you have! Where are you from?”

“Brazil.” He pushed the ledger towards her and placed a pen on top.

“Oh, I just adore Brazil. The people, the beaches, the music—so…caliente!”

Guy opened his mouth, about to correct her on his actual native language, when a loud crash sounded from the floor above. A female voice shouted down, “I’m alright! It was just a mask falling!”

Guy rolled his eyes, mumbled something in Portuguese, and turned to head upstairs.

Gina placed her red leather Longchamp bag on the desk and followed. As she climbed the stairs, the whispers in her head grew louder. Gina tried to ignore them and focused her attention on the source of the noise. She found herself at the beginning of a dark hallway lined with white masks on both sides. Halfway down the hall, a young Indian woman stood on her tiptoes, trying to rehang a mask. Guy placed his hand on her shoulder, gently grabbed the mask, and placed it back on its nail in the wall.

“Gina, this is Calliope. She can give you the tour. I’ll be in my office.” Guy turned and walked away, his cologne lingering in the air behind him.

“Well, it’s a good thing he has a pretty face, because he’ll never win a personality contest,” Gina said as she watched Guy disappear down the stairs, her eyes on his rear the whole time.

Calliope laughed. “I’m so glad you’re here, Mrs. Tarantino. I’ve been really excited about working with you and ASI!”

“Dear, please call me Gina. Now why don’t you give me a tour? Then, we can discuss making this place a little more comfortable…and less Addams Family-ish. Also, I believe some pieces in your collection require my special attention.” She pointed to a room just off the hallway where she felt the strongest energy emanating. “Let’s start here.”

Calliope led Gina into a white room decorated to look like a child’s nursery. She began pointing out different features of the room, but Gina couldn’t hear her over the screams of “Let me out!” She turned, suddenly aware of the source of all the screaming. Encased in a glass box with a heavy padlock was an innocent-looking porcelain doll with blonde curls and faded brown eyes.

As soon as Gina’s eyes met those of the doll, there was an unbearable shriek. Gina quickly glanced at Calliope. But the petite woman was gesturing to and seemed to be talking about a rocking horse in the corner.

Let me out, you bitch! The doll’s voice seemed to fill every cell in Gina’s head.

Not a chance. Gina glared at the doll with the kind of disapproving look only a Catholic mother can give. I’ve heard all about you, Joliet. You’ve been a very naughty girl.

“I believe we’ll start in this room.” Gina said to Calliope. There was a hint of excitement in her voice. It had been a long time since she had been able to put her gift to good use—and it made her feel better than she had in a long, long time.

Stop, hey, what's that sound?

The larger dog strolled on the pavement, wagging his tail enthusiastically at every human he passed. It made him feel especially proud when he could make them smile. He relied on this charm to earn him delicious scraps of sourdough bread soaked in remnants of clam chowder from the tourists on the Pier. Behind him panted a smaller black and white dog, his toenails clicking on the concrete as his short legs struggled to keep up with his friendly companion. Unfortunately, his driving need to pee on every lamppost kept him from ever keeping pace.

Walking tall and confidently behind his four-legged soldiers, the Emperor took his evening patrol of the waterfront. He raised his eagle-topped cane in a salute to the shopkeepers he passed. They all stopped and greeted him with a salute or warm hello. Eventually, he came to the back door of the Boudin Bakery.

“At ease, boys,” he said to his canine compatriots. The boys had already taken a position of ease at the door and put on their best begging faces.

The Emperor rapped on the door three times with his cane. An electronic buzz sounded as the door opened, but neither dog flinched. They were too focused on the deliciousness they knew to be behind the large metal door.

“Emperor, so good to see you! I hope you and your men are hungry.” A short Filipino woman handed him a brown sack with grease stains spreading across the bottom. The two dogs sniffed the air and tried not to whine at the mouth-watering scent of the ham and cheese croissants within the sack.

“Milagros, you are ever so kind to me and my men. Your food provides us great sustenance as we complete our last patrol of the day.” He gave her a quick bow after taking the sack from her hand.

“Emperor, it is the least we can do. Without you, surely our city would fall to ruin.” She smiled at him, her eyes filled with warmth and admiration, and no trace of condescension.

Finally, the smaller dog couldn’t stand it any longer. He let out a small whine and lifted his front paws up and onto Milagros’ apron. Pushing him off gently with his cane, the Emperor admonished the small creature. “Bummer, that is no way to treat a lady.”

Milagros chuckled. “I think your soldiers are hungry, sir. It makes me happy to know they are well fed tonight. I hope all is well…” She was cut off by someone from within the bakery calling for her.

“Your duty calls, milady. My men and I do not wish to impede your work. Fare thee well!” The Emperor turned, heading for a bench facing the water. Bummer and Lazarus followed, nearly tripping over each other, completely entranced by the smell from the bag.

Wiping the crumbs from the corners of his mouth with a linen handkerchief, Emperor Norton leaned back. It felt good to have his hunger pains subsided for awhile. Content with the food in their bellies, the two dogs lay at his feet. They rested as they watched the sun begin its descent over the Bay.

He must have dozed off for a moment, because the loud sudden barking of Lazarus caused him to jump. Soon after, Bummer began a frantic whine. Both dogs stood on alert, the hair on their backs raised.

“What is it, boys?” He looked in the direction upon which they were fixated. A thick fog was beginning to roll in from the sea, slowly engulfing the red towers of the Golden Gate Bridge in its path. “It’s just the fog, boys! You should be used to that.”

But by then, he was feeling it himself. Although the night was already cool, a chill seemed to seep under his skin and into his bones. The hair on his arms stood straight up and knots began to form in his stomach. Something was changing in San Francisco. Something was happening to his city, and he was going to need help to protect it. He slowly rose to his feet, his bones creaking in protest. He leaned over, stroking the dogs’ heads in a soothing motion. “Come, men—it’s time to head to Wilson’s.”

You're gonna meet some gentle people there

Sharpe picked it up and began reviewing the data display. “No improvements since Rome?” He asked, never looking up from the tablet to hear her response.

“None, sir. In fact, the dreams seem to be getting worse.” Dr. Cunningham stood awkwardly, trying to read any sign of emotion on Sharpe’s face.

Everyone at ASI cared about Gina—she was the unofficial “mom” of the organization. As much as she tried to appear like the same person she had been, though, whatever had happened to her on that throne in Rome had changed her. No amount of expensive makeup could cover the dark circles spreading beneath her brown eyes. She was tired and distracted all the time. Evie knew things were really bad when Gina came into work wearing sensible flats instead of her usual Louboutin stilettos. Sharpe had personally asked Ken Yakana and Evie to monitor Gina’s sleep and dreams. Both of them had eagerly agreed to the task, not just because one didn’t say no to a request from Sharpe, but because Gina was a dear friend.

Sharpe finally looked up from the device and realized Evie was still standing. “Please, Doctor, have a seat.” He nodded toward one of the leather armchairs opposite his desk. Evie smoothed out the back of her gray pencil skirt before perching on the edge of the chair. Sharpe waited until she was settled before he resumed speaking. “Update me on your progress with the hypnosedative immersion sequence. Has the therapy been effective in initial trials?”

“Our first round of results are promising, sir,” Evie responded, pulling the tablet back towards her and looking over a series of reports she’d just received from Ken’s lab. “The oneiric virtual-reality environment responds differently to each user’s individual brain activity, but R&D is working on developing a technique that will unify the sequence and allow us to conduct trials on multiple individuals in a shared instance. We feel it’s safer this way, especially if we send in groups with similar mental trauma—they can reinforce and ground one another if things become too extreme.”

“Good,” Sharpe said. “Do you believe that Gina would respond positively to this technique once the final update patch is applied? I won’t place her at any further risk, so I need your utmost confidence on this point.”

“I’m very optimistic about her course of treatment, sir,” Evie responded without hesitation. “Mrs. Tarantino’s brain activity is consistent with the other individuals we’ve seen make the most progress in our alpha trials. I do think that it would be a good idea to begin her immersion therapy with someone she’s worked with previously, though. Ken was considering beginning with a dual-subject therapy sequence, perhaps pairing Gina with Field Operative Oliver. She and Tamara became quite close after their mission together in Greenbelt over the winter.”

“Thank you for your input, Doctor. That’s an excellent start. But I also think a change of scenery might help Gina.” He stood up and turned, looking out his large office window overlooking the Philadelphia skyline. After a moment of quiet contemplation, he turned back to Evie. “Did you know her son’s family recently moved to Palo Alto? I understand she has a new grandchild.”

Evie nodded, wondering where he might be going with this train of thought.

“I’ve recently acquired the Musee de Macabre in San Francisco. I wanted to wait until everything was finalized before making an official announcement.” He watched for Evie’s reaction.

Evie knew better than to even attempt lying to Sharpe. The acquisition of the museum filled with haunted artifacts had been the main topic of office gossip for weeks now. “I had heard rumors, sir.”

Sharpe smiled. He was already well aware of the water cooler conversations about the sale. “I intend to ask Gina to head up the West Coast branch of ASI—a branch I intend to locate in the former museum. I think she’s best equipped to help the spirits ensnared by Mr. Thorne’s collection, and Gina is most content when she’s being useful. With Aaron and Natalie settled into a quiet life in Vancouver, I know Gina would love to be closer to them. Plus, nothing makes her happier than family, and it broke her heart when her grandbaby moved to California. As her primary care physician, what are your thoughts on this?”

Evie knew he’d already made up his mind, but she appreciated that he wanted to hear her opinion. “In all honesty, sir, it couldn’t hurt. Being busy with a new role could be just enough to get her mind off these awful visions she has been plagued with.”

Sharpe nodded. “So, it’s settled then.” He leaned over and pressed a button on his desktop phone. “Kerry, please send in Mrs. Tarantino.”

Dain came stumbling out of the cabin he shared with Ed, boots untied and trying to navigate the shirt on his head as he scampered down the steps. Behind him poured a stream of curses and yelling, quickly muffled by a slamming door.

Dain sank onto the picnic bench just outside their cabin and started to make sense of his boots, their laces, and what the hell had just happened. He pointedly ignored Victoria and Terry, who sat on the other side of the table, grinning.

“Honeymoon’s over, huh, boss?” Victoria teased.

Dain’s eyes jerked up and pinned her in place as he growled. “Drop it, Simmons.”

Her grin only got bigger, but she fell silent. Her partner-in-crime, however, did not.

“I dunno, Alpha,” Terry continued, mock concern on his face. “Some of us are worried. Here, I brought this back from town for you.”

He slid a pamphlet on doggie obedience school across the table, with the phone number circled over and over. It was in a loud color and clearly decades old from some sort of animal rescue clinic. Dain’s glare intensified as his eyes panned from Terry and back to Victoria. “So, which one of you should I tell Ed brought this to me?” he countered, waving the brochure at the cabin behind him.

Terry’s body darted across the table, his hand snatching the offending item away from Dain and, just as quickly, stuffing it into his mouth and starting to chew. “Nah, we’re good,” he mumbled around the wad of paper. Making a face of disgust, he swallowed and shook his head trying to rid it of the foul taste.

Dain returned to his boots. “I hope you get paper cuts on that thing’s way out,” he muttered.

Terry was too busy patting down his numerous pockets in search of anything to rid his mouth of the flavor of ink and paper to respond. Victoria said what was on everyone’s mind though. “These days, I think most of us would take that over having to deal with Ed,” she quietly responded.

The duo rose in unison a fraction of a moment before Dain and the three of them walked towards the Farm’s edge in uncomfortable silence. Only the sound of their boots crunching in the snow broke the stillness. Once well out of hearing range of the cabin, Dain responded. “Yeah, I get that. I have no clue what’s up with him. He’s just…mad. Constantly. Wild mood swings. Everything sets him off.”

Victoria and Terry shared a glance. Dain’s admission that he’d lost the understanding of his mate’s behavior was unsettling. “What about Alex?” Victoria asked. “She’s usually able to talk sense into him.”

Dain shook his head. “Simon’s had no luck getting up with her or Jonas after they left for Europe. I’m starting to believe that was some sort of code with Jonas’s pack.”

“Have you asked Leanna about it?” she continued.

Dain rubbed his beard in thought. “Not yet. I’m hoping the few days apart will help clear the air. Rekindle the fires and all that.”

Terry’s facial expression clearly meant he wasn’t buying it. “I dunno, I’d be more worried about coming back to find all my stuff on fire, to be honest.”

Dain’s body language changed, shoulders rising and gait stiffening. Victoria, sensing the anger rolling off of him, tried to make light of Terry’s remarks. “Man, I think that’s just a thing that happens to you. The rest of us have normal break ups.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized her mistake. Dain spun in place to glare at the both of them. They instantly averted their gaze, looking away and baring their necks. “How about we do our fucking jobs and patrol the pack lands and stop running our damn mouths?” he seethed. “Is that something you two can do?”

“Yes, Alpha,” they both mumbled.

A few nights later, two wolves the size of horses stood over the body of a similarly large creature not of this world. Moonlight bathed the two as they crunched through bone, sinew, and unnatural construction. Blood and ectoplasmic residue were splattered across the snow. Steam rose from the cooling corpse and a slightly phosphorescent ichor evaporated in the moonlight. A short distance away, a grey wolf of similar size rubbed its back against a massive aspen tree. Even after removing this threat from the far reach of the packlands, the uncomfortable itch of something wrong kept bothering Dain. The itch had gotten worse over the last few days, and he had assumed it had to do with the underworld spirit they’d slain earlier in the night. But now it was only getting worse, to the point Dain could think of little else.

A distant howl, felt rather than heard, froze all three in place. Victoria and Terry’s tails dropped between their legs as they scurried over towards Dain, whimpering.

It came again, this time a mix of rage and agony. It felt like home and belonging and loss and confusion to Dain, like something intimately familiar and completely beyond understanding. It pulled at him in a way he hadn’t felt since…

Ed.

In an instant, Dain sprang forward, a flash of cracking bones and twisting flesh. His form shrank into that of a traditional wolf, becoming leaner, smaller, and faster. Terry and Victoria, pulled along by the ferocity of the emotions coming from Dain, also transformed and followed without question. The countryside sped by them in a blur as Dain pushed himself to the edge of his own physical ability.

The howls increased in strength and anguish as the distance shrank. Through forests and underbrush, across streams and grasslands they raced, finally reaching the dusty road leading to the cabins. Approaching Dain’s home, outside stood a small crowd, the fear and confusion thick in the air. There were sounds of something crashing around inside, along with Ed’s wails of suffering. Windows were broken out, broken furniture scattered in the surrounding grass.

Victoria and Terry collapsed to the grass, tongues lolling out of their mouths in heavy panting. Dain launched himself at the cabin’s door, transforming back to human form as he leapt.

Dain’s leap ended against the stout human form of Forseti Torvald. Big Man collided with Dain mid-leap, tackling him through the picnic table the trio had sat at just a few days ago.

The roar from Dain shook the very ground. Pack members shrunk away and fled, but Forseti refused to let go. Double D and Simon raced to Forseti’s aid, desperately trying to hold Dain in place.

“Dain, stop!” rang out a woman’s voice.

Without fear, Marissa put herself between Dain and the cabin and grabbed his face forcefully with both hands, making him look at her. Tears ran down her cheeks. “Stop fighting, you can’t help him with this.”

Again Dain struggled. “What’s happening! Who’s in there with him! Let me go!”

“Dain, the only ones in that cabin are Ed…and Luna,” she explained.

The words sapped the energy from Dain’s. He collapsed, his pack-mates switching from restraining him to catching him in an instant. They slowly lowered him to sit among the ruins of the table. “Wha…what do you mean Luna?” he whispered, fearful and reverent.

Marissa knelt in front of him, carefully placing her hands on his shoulders. Her tears continued to fall. “On the full moon, Luna came to Ed and made him Wolf-Blooded—made him part of the pack. She rewarded Ed for his loyalty and dedication to us, and to you. I am so sorry, I should have seen the signs. We could have prepared him…”

Dain’s voice sounded small, like a lost child. “What do we do?” he pleaded with his Keeper of the Ways.

“Nothing,” she sobbed, pulling him into a hug. “Luna’s gift must be earned. Ed will have to fight to survive it. And he must do it on his own.”

The sounds continued through the night, shifting between the screams of man and something more primal. Once allowed to move, Dain slumped against the cabin door and refused to leave. The moon sank across the horizon as dawn broke the next day. The cabin had fallen silent.

With Marissa and Leanna by his side, Dain entered the cabin. The door barely budged, and only after Dain’s shove did it push the debris clear enough for them to enter. The inside reeked of a foul mix of a kennel and locker room, both long-since cleaned.. Barely any furnishings were in any recognizable fashion. Walls had been broken down; shelves, counters, and tables had been smashed. And in the center, among a pile of bedding and Dain’s clothes, was Ed curled into a fetal position. Blood was smeared across him, and visible wounds stretched across his body. Only his whimpering confirmed that he still breathed.

“Ed…” Dain whispered meekly.

Ed struggled to raise his head. At first, there was no look of recognition in Ed’s wild eyes, and he looked poised to fight. But, just as quickly, it passed. “D–Dain?” he croaked. “Need…you.”

Ed tried to rise, but collapsed back into the heap just as quickly. Moans of agony escaped him. Instantly, Dain was at his side, checking his mate as best he could. Ed shoved away Dain’s hands, instead pulling him into a fierce hug before falling back unconscious, his breathing steady. Dain looked up, helpless but relieved.

Leanna approached warily, acutely aware of the air of a wild animal that still clung to Ed. She laid her hand against his back and closed her eyes. Ed stirred, but only enough to squeeze Dain tighter. He winced, fully aware of Ed’s hard-won physical changes. “He’s feverish,” she stated. “And badly malnourished. He needs to eat, and then to rest, peacefully. There’s also something else in there. A, uh, hunger. It’s not as strong as what you have, Dain, but it’s like what the rest of the Wolf-Blooded feel. It’s…settling down now, feelings of home are coming from it. There’s also…Oh.”

Leanna blushed. “We should go and get them some food,” she stammered, walking quickly for the door and pulling Marissa along with her.

Dain’s confused look changed to one of amusement as Ed rocked the two of them with his movement. “Are you really humping me in your sleep?” he laughed.

It took a few days for Ed to leave the cabin, and several more before being comfortable around others. Weeks later, a small group sat around the new picnic table out front enjoying dinner. The day had mostly consisting of repairing and rebuilding the cabin’s interior, something that Dain had done without complaint (and for which Ed had sheepishly apologized over and over).

Simon walked up mid-meal and slipped a note to Ed. All conversation stopped. Ed opened the note. A Union contact in New Orleans needed help.

“How did you get this?” Ed asked. “I thought you said the Secret Frequency went down a few months back.”

Simon shrugged. “It did. This came by plain ol’ email. Not secure at all. They must be really desperate.”

“Uh, thanks, Simon.” Ed mumbled. He could feel Dain’s gaze on him.

Later that night, after everyone had left, Ed sat outside next to the fire. In one hand he held the note; in the other, his pocket notebook with everyone’s contact information in the Contingent that he knew. A cellphone laid next to him, the flames flickering off of the black glass. Dain padded up and sat down next to him.

“When do you leave?” he asked, trying to hide the hurt in his voice.

Ed released the breath he was holding. “I don’t know,” he said.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Dain responded, sharper than intended. “It’s not enough they take you away from here, but they can’t even tell you when to be there?!”

Ed turned back to the fire. “No, it’s not that. I don’t know if I’m going. I don’t know if I can go.”

Dain cocked his head, like the sound had somehow come in wrong. “Huh?”

Ed stood up and stepped closer to the fire, shivering. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore. Just pick up and go. It doesn’t feel right anymore. Leaving the farm, leaving you. I know they need me, but…”

Dain followed, wrapping Ed in his arms. “…but you feel sick about the idea of leaving.” he finished Ed’s thought. “Yeah, that happens to us, once you pick a pack. Or more accurately, once a pack picks you. You don’t want to leave them.”

“Does it get easier?” Ed asked.

Dain was quiet for a while. “No. No it doesn’t. You learn how to deal with the feeling, but it never gets easier to leave the pack.”

Ed nodded. The silence stretched out until Ed deliberately reached out and dropped both the note and his notebook into the fire. “What are you doing?!” Dain exclaimed, reaching past Ed to try to rescue the quickly igniting paper.

Ed stopped him. “Leave it. I’m done with that life. It nearly killed me. On several occasions. And it took me away from here when you needed me most. I don’t know if I could go on if something happened to the pack and I wasn’t here to fight for it. I have a real chance here to start something good, something I can be proud of. The Contingent needs to exist, but there’s no place in it for me any longer.”

Ed turned to walk away from the fire, away from his past. And, as the smoke curled into the crisp and clear night sky, vanishing into the Milky Way above, he felt truly at peace for the first moment in a very, very long time.

Can call all you want but there's no one home...

A man and a woman, probably related, rounded the corner of an industrial hallway, decked in worn tactical vests and mismatched army surplus. Bullets sparked off of the pipes and plating around them, releasing steam in an ear-splitting hiss and obscuring their pursuers.

Reaching their destination, they ducked into a small room and slammed the heavy steel door behind them. Inside, a frazzled guy in work overalls had the cover off of a large mechanical… thing that took up much of the room. Loud beeping made thinking nearly impossible and an acrid smoke hung in the air.

“Jimmy, I hope you’ve got that thing figured out, we’re out of time!” the woman shouted, bracing the door with a piece of debris.

Jimmy was frozen in place, paralyzed by choice. In front of him, a Gordian knot of wiring connected several boards, tanks, and tubes in the device. He had a pair of clippers in one hand and an multi-meter in the other. “I, uh, no. I have no clue. But I think that beeping is bad.”

The other two exchanged a look. “What?!?” the male shouted. “The Patron’s goons are going to be through this door any minute!”

Immediately following came the metallic drone of a standard text-to-voice system.

“Please leave your message after the tone.”

beep

“The user’s mailbox is full. Disconnecting.”

Shock and disbelief flooded the room, but the crash of a large metallic object into the steel door startled everyone back to action. A muffled digital roar came from the other side, along with the sound of shifting machinery and angle grinders activating. She dropped the phone and it shattered against the concrete floor.

While she scrambled to recover the broken pieces, the banging was replaced by the high-pitched wail of angle grinders against the steel door. “Jimmy make a god-damn decision!” the brother shouted, taking a shooter’s stance in front of the door, pistol drawn.

“If I cut the wrong wire, we’ll dump the charge and fry!” Jimmy yelled back, desperately trying to trace another wire through the jumble.

“If you don’t cut a wire, whatever’s on the other side of that door is chewing our faces off!” came the response.

Jimmy pulled a red and green wire from the rest. Placing it between his snips, he closed his eyes, and hoped for the right result, or at least a fast death.

Session 6 (Justin)

Flagstaff. The Black Star. We’ve seen the signs and read the dossiers. They assassinated Jackson Carver and framed it on us. They moved in to burn down the Farm in Denver and kill our allies. Someone or something there wishes to discredit and then kill us all. However, they’re biting off far more than they can chew. We’ve lost friends, loved ones, and our own innocence for the sake of others and yet we’re still here, fighting to save our world. We are the heroes of this story, and I refuse to let our legacy be tarnished. Let’s expose the monster behind this to the light of day and show that together, we’re unstoppable.

Writeups

Session 6 (Melissa)

We know there was a power structure behind Carver, an enigmatic Patron, pulling strings from the shadows with a cult of followers who are willing to die for their cause. The framed document we recovered from his house has given us our first actual leads. It appears to be some sort of contract. The vellum itself originates from an area in the Himalayan mountains, and what text we’ve been able to translate references the same things we’ve been seeing throughout our missions:

I offer the key that will unlock the true path. Let loose the chains that bind you and be reborn.

Several hunters have paid dearly to get us this far. I can not in good faith require anyone to go on this mission, so I’m asking for volunteers. Infiltrate the cult, find their leader, and get whatever information you can.

Hunters

Session 6 (Johnathan)

With Jackson Carver’s death, a number of his shadow-corps found themselves without funding. Most simply shut down – the employees just walked away when the paychecks stopped showing up. Unfortunately, if South Carolina taught us anything, it’s that there are any number of sites that need monitoring 24/7 for the good of us all.

One of those sites is just outside Las Vegas. Cloverleaf ran a lab here, but the gate’s been chained about a month now. We don’t have a lot of details, but we know they were synthesizing some sort of compound. Some notes reference oneirologic research. If the unicorn and the dullahan are any indication, this could be very bad.

There has been a rash of people falling into comas while sleeping in the Las Vegas area. But perhaps more terrifying are the mass hallucinations happening in the City of Lights. Or, they were assumed to be mass hallucinations until one of those hallucinations smashed a hole in the Golden Nugget.

Hunters

Writeups

Before the return flight from Rome, ASI had already directed Aaron to continue on to Denver and await another set of orders from headquarters. Luckily, he still had a place to stay there. Some good friends had seen to that decisively not too many days ago; he was anxious to hear that story from Eva and Charles.

Once the Rome team had extracted Gina, and Aaron and Natalie had reported the situation back to Elijah Sharpe, Elijah had sent a private jet to Italy to pick up Gina and bring her back to New Jersey. The plane had included a heavy security detail, replete with armed field agents in full riot gear, a few psychics from Gina’s own pool of contacts, and some archivists with arcane widgets that could detect and repel any extranormals who might try to interfere with her extraction. Aaron got the distinct impression that Gina was angry with him and the others for pulling her off the throne and out of the Vatican, but Natalie assured him that would pass the moment Gina got home and held her soon-to-be-born grandchild. He hoped so; Gina was one of his favorite people, and one of the last folks he ever wanted to be mad at him given her unique suite of talents.

When the Empire Foundation jet touched down in Denver, Aaron and Natalie picked up the cheapest rental car they could find on short notice and sent Simon notice that they were inbound. He sent a group of older kids from the caern to meet them on the edge of the bawn; the youngsters acted strangely when they drew near, circling Aaron warily and sniffing at him, as if unsure whether he was actually who he said he was. Aaron recognized one of them: a teenaged boy who was on the cusp of early manhood the last time he’d seen him, corralled in the center of the caern with the theurges when Carver’s mercenaries had attacked the Farm last year. And what a year a difference could make: the boy had added easily twenty pounds of muscle mass to his slight form, and he carried himself like a warrior. A brand on his chest marked him as one of Dain’s junior pack members.

Once they’d thoroughly assessed him and deemed him not to be a threat, the teens led them through the bawn and into the caern proper, to Simon’s cluttered cabin packed full of electronic surveillance equipment, satellite linkups for secure internet connections, and other technology far beyond Aaron’s basic understanding of computers. “Simon’s not in right now,” said the young garou, who was clearly the alpha of the hunting pack that had escorted them, “but this guy said he’d show you around and get you up to speed.” A brown leather chair in front of a broad spread of flatscreen monitors swiveled around to face them. In it sat Charles Powell, looking a bit more like his old self now that he’d let his hair grow back out and shaved the scraggly beard he’d grown to duck the authorities after the incident in New York a few months ago.

“Charles? Omigosh, how are you?!” Natalie dashed forward and threw her arms around the burly ex-cop, who barely managed to stand up in time to keep her from plowing the desk chair into the monitors. Charles grunted as she squeezed his midsection like a stuffed animal; she was strong for a small woman.

“Alive, which is pretty damn good these days,” he said jovially, turning to Aaron. “What’s up, Mathias? Enjoy your vacation in Rome? ‘Cuz we sure missed you here.” The sarcasm was laced with friendliness; Charles held out a hand. Aaron shook it, clapping Powell on the back in a quick man-hug.

“Sorry I couldn’t be here, man. We were halfway across Europe before word got out about the attack—and about Alex. And I was needed there.”

“Eh, don’t beat yourself up about it. Shit happens. Besides, we took care of it all. You two must be starving if you’ve had nothing but airline food since you left Italy. Chow line should be open; Granger’s on kitchen duty, and the man makes one hell of a good colcannon and corned beef casserole.”

“Granger’s here? I haven’t seen him since the museum in San Diego! Yay!” Natalie exclaimed. “It’s like home away from home, with booze and weed and a cafeteria!”

Charles quirked an eyebrow. “She always this cheery?”

“So far as I can tell,” Aaron said through a lop-sided grin. “It’s one of the perks of keeping her around.”

“It’s true—I’m a girl of many talents,” Natalie said with a devious, toothy smile, putting her arm around Aaron and nipping at his shoulder playfully. “You should be thankful, mister.”

The pair fell into a familiar routine over the next few days, one they’d not been accustomed to since their last visit to the Farm so long ago but which quickly returned, alternating days patrolling the bawn with the other hunters and the packs, digging latrines and patching up damaged structures, preparing food for the massive communal meals of garou and wolfkin, and watching the cubs while the other adults worked. It was simple living, and hard work, but the aches and pains of the days were easily soothed by baths in the cool rivers running through the caern, all sorts of homebrewed spirits, Leanna’s exquisite buds, and nights spent by the bonfires with good friends.

Nearly a week into their stay, Natalie had gone to attend to some cubs who needed supervision while their parents went on patrol. Aaron had intended to join her, but Taz told him he needed to come to Simon’s cabin right away—a message had arrived for his eyes only. He logged into his ASI email through the secure satellite link and and read through the message, which was encrypted and codelocked. His stomach lurched. So it’s finally time, he thought. And I have to go tell her, right now. He left the cabin and headed for the inner bawn, just north of the caern’s center and south of the main farmlands.

Aaron heard Natalie before he saw her. He followed her laughter to the tall tent of sunflowers the pack had grown as a playhouse for their pups. “Now you look like a real princess!” He heard a small voice proclaim. “True. I was but a mere peasant before with the face of a hag,” Natalie playfully replied. “You may have made me beautiful but you were not able to destroy my appetite for adorable children!”

The tall sunflower stalks began to shake and three children came screaming out of the opening in the front with huge grins on their faces. Natalie burst out after them barefoot and holding up the long skirt of her light blue cotton dress. She wore a crown made of woven flowers and a pretend snarl on her face. She snatched up the smallest child and began tickling her, then she looked up and saw Aaron. She blushed and set the laughing child down on the ground, “Go play without me, sweetie, I think Aaron needs to talk to me.”

Aaron dropped to one knee in an exaggerated fashion. “Run, little one, before she catches you again! I’ll hold her off!” He grabbed a stick from the well-trodden ground and held it at the ready in faux-fencer pose in front of him. The girl dashed off toward the camp in hysterics, shrieking in delight.

“Oh no! Not the handsome prince! I can’t resist his dashing good looks!” She covered her eyes in mock terror.

He stood up and dropped the stick in his right hand into a lazy downward guard, resting his left on his leg. “This game makes no sense. Are you a child-eating hag or a princess? You can’t be both, I’m pretty sure. Those are the rules. And around here, fairy tales could have a very different meaning depending on who you talk to. You might even be disparaging someone’s grandmother,” he said with a grin.

“Well from what I know of fairy tales, a curse that turned a princess into a child-
eating hag could only be broken by true love’s kiss.” She pressed her hands to her chest and fluttered her eyelashes in an attempt to look as much like a princess as possible.

“Uh huh,” he said, his smile growing wider. “I bet you say that to all the boys.” He dropped the stick and strode toward her, pulling her close and pressing his lips to hers, meaning to do so briefly but finding it harder to pull away than he’d intended. “Nat…sit down.” He gestured to the small chairs in the center of the sunflower tent.

Her eyes were closed, still under the spell of his kiss, but they quickly opened and her smile was replaced with a look of worry when she heard the tone in his voice. She followed him back into the canopy of the bright yellow flowers. “Babe, what is it?” she perched on the edge of the small table, facing Aaron.

Aaron settled into one of the low chairs and took her hand as she knelt to the ground to join him. “Several communications have just been issued to all Contingent affiliates. They come direct from Sharpe. I have to go into the field in a few weeks.” His eyes drifted downward to the surface of the plastic table in the center of the tent.

“What? No! We were going to take a break…be normal!” Her voice rose in a mixture of anger and sadness.

“I know, babe—believe me, you have no idea how much I want that.” His gaze returned to hers. “Look, Natalie, whatever we stopped from happening in Rome, it’s having repercussions. I couldn’t leave Gina on that throne; none of us could. But those fae were trying to seal something away by turning her into the oracle. Something powerful enough to worry them. And it came from a Cloverleaf facility in South Carolina.” His grip tightened on her hand. “Nat, there’s mass hysteria in Las Vegas. People are hallucinating, falling into comas.”

“There’s always mass hysteria in Vegas, it’s Sin City!” Natalie’s pathetic attempt at a joke did little to mask how upset she was. She was silent for a moment, then looked at him, tears rolling down her cheeks. “But why you? Why does it always have to be you? I can’t go this time. I can’t be there with you.”

A pensive look of calculation crossed his face. “Oh damn. I forgot. The show’s off hiatus soon.”

“Yeah. I have to work, babe. I’ve got rent and you know I send money home to help with Papa. I’ve stayed away longer than I should have. If I don’t report to the set I’ll be fired.” She pulled her hands away from him, reached up and slid the crown off of her head and into her lap. “It’s not fair. I shouldn’t have to choose…” she picked the white petals off of a daisy.

“Nat, you should go back to work. Honestly, you don’t need to be in on this mission. Cloverleaf is bad news, and they have a facility on the edge of the city. It’s been shut down, but SecFreq hackers pulled some files off their cloud infrastructure. They determined that Cloverleaf was researching oneiric agonist compounds at that lab. Dream drugs. And with everything we’ve seen lately—Gina’s spontaneous dream omens, the reports of hysteria in Nevada, Alex falling into that coma—Nat, it has to be connected. Sharpe wants me there; no one else has insight on these phenomena like I do, and Gina’s in no shape to go back in the field right now.” He moved behind her, his fingers stopping hers from tearing more petals.

Natalie stood up, pulling her hands away, the crown fell to the ground. Her left hand moved to her forehead and her right to her stomach. “I just can’t do this. It’s too much not knowing if you’re safe. I really thought we wouldn’t have to do this again. I feel nauseous! I have to get out of here!” She pushed through the green stems into the field outside, taking a deep breath.

She heard Aaron’s footsteps crunch dead grass and twigs behind her as he approached. “Nat, Sharpe sent out other orders. Not all of us know about them, but I was given access. There’s a team headed for the source of that contract your team retrieved in Dallas, and another one scheduled to hit the Air Force observatory in Flagstaff at the same time we carry out our orders in Vegas. Elijah’s got something planned. He’s been waiting for the dominos to line up, and this is our shot to knock them down and end this for good.” He laid a hand gently on her shoulder.

“I know. I know, in my head I know all this. But my heart? My heart is saying that I have to do normal alone, and right now that’s louder than any request Sharpe has.” She leaned her cheek against his hand, “I’m sorry, I know I’m being a brat right now, I just hate that I can’t go with you.” Her shoulders began to shake as she broke down in sobs.

Aaron’s arms encircled her from behind. “Nat, I’m so tired of this. So tired of everything being on the edge of a disaster. And I won’t lie to you and say I could walk away from what I do forever. I made that decision when I wished to control my dreams instead of getting rid of them. But if we finish this job, I can scale back. Elijah already offered to keep me on as an intelligence consultant—no field work. I think he’d accept my resignation if I handed it in today.” He moved to stand in front of her, placing a single finger under her chin. “But if I refused to do my part in all this, a part that maybe no one else can, then I’d be giving up the fight for the world we both want to live in together.”

“I know, it’s because you’re the dashing heroic prince.” She smiled weakly at him. “I just don’t know if I have it in me anymore. Maybe I am the child-eating hag.” She vainly attempted to wipe off the mascara that has started to run down her cheeks. “I need to get cleaned up. It’s almost dinner time.” She kissed his cheek and turned to walk towards their cabin.

Aaron watched her walk away into the dying light of the late afternoon sun, out of the fields of the bawn and into the wooded camp at the center of the caern. No, you’re definitely the princess, he thought. Which must make me the fool—because only a complete fucking idiot wouldn’t go with you.

After dinner, the various packs retreated to their own quarters of the caern, gathering around the many bonfires they’d lit. The chill of the night had not yet fully descended, but the temperature had dipped into the 70s after sunset and was sure to cool steadily as the evening passed. A first quarter moon hung heavy in the sky—a philodox moon, Simon had explained to Aaron, which the garou considered a time for reflecting on truths and decisive action.

Charles, Granger, and Taz had wandered off with Forseti, Leanna, Dain, and Ed to another part of the caern; evidently they’d been accepted into one of the other packs, which was only rational given their huge contributions to the defense of the caern in the preceding weeks. Nat and Aaron decided to fall back with the pack they knew best among the Denver wolves: the East Coast Exiles, who had dragged them and the other hunters into the caern last year while they’d been here investigating the VALKYRIE washouts on Carver’s payroll.

Drake and Marissa had spread out a blanket a few feet away from their pack’s firepit, taking turns at playing checkers with Promise. Keppler was perched on a tree stump in the shadow of a massive fir, just within reach of the light from the flickering flames, honing the edge of his claymore with a whetstone. Harms sat somewhat closer, less sullen than usual and almost jovial, thanks in no small part to a hearty meal and a massive after-dinner spliff of the Farm’s finest. A few other werewolves gathered around the fire pit, many holding either musical instruments or jugs of homebrewed ale and mead, and Drake led them in a series of songs on his loveworn acoustic guitar.

Eva had stalked over to the fire after the meal as well, pulling two frosty bottles of Forseti’s brown ale from a repurposed six-pack carton. She popped the top off one of the bottles and handed it to Mal, who was laying out a blanket for them near Drake and Marissa, then grabbed a second for herself. Aaron and Natalie had found a spot on a large boulder opposite the troupe of garou musicians, not too far away from Eva and Mal; Nat reclined against his chest, her hands clutching his tightly in her lap.

“It’s too easy to get used to this,” Eva said. “At first it was a shock being out here in the middle of nowhere after living in L.A. for so long, but this place grows on you.” She tipped back her beer bottle and swallowed with gusto, wrapping one arm around Mal’s shoulders.

“It’s a nice change from Manhattan,” Mal agreed, “but I miss my lab. I’ll be glad when things calm down and I can resume my research again.” She leaned over and kissed Eva on the cheek. “But at least I get to enjoy a getaway with you in the meantime, though.”

Natalie leaned back further, nuzzling Aaron’s cheek and neck; he buried his nose in her hair, savoring her scent and lightly kissing her neck. “I missed this place too,” she said. “I can’t believe it’s been over a year since we first met you guys!”

Marissa smiled. “I definitely enjoy the company a lot more when we don’t have to spend all our time fighting bastards with rifles and flamethrowers,” she joked.

“Not that there was much of a fight to be had this time,” Drake added between chord strums. “You Contingent folks helped us shut down that shitstorm before it started raining down on us. That’s two we owe you now.”

“Nah, we’re square,” Aaron said. “Simon keeps sending me weed, and no one complains when I ask to crash here for a week or two. I’m just sorry I wasn’t on hand to help out, too.”

“Meh, no worries man—you had your own hands full in Rome, from what I hear,” Drake said with a quick dismissive wave of his picking hand as he returned to playing the lead melody in the song the werewolf musicians were playing. “We’re good as far as I’m concerned.”

A few bottles of beer and passes of the mead jug later, Natalie slid out of Aaron’s lap and off the boulder. “I gotta pee—that mead’s running through me like wildfire. Anyone wanna come with?” Marissa and Mal stood and walked off with her toward the camp latrines, chattering the whole way there.

Aaron hopped off the rock and moved away from the fire, taking a minute to savor the cool air away from the flames. As he stepped into the shadows, a familiar voice intoned a greeting. “You don’t call, you don’t write—what, are you too good to even hit a guy up for a round of Heroes any more, Mathias?” Simon Davis stepped out from behind a tree and smirked.

“How the hell have you been, man?” Aaron hugged the smaller, wirier man, clapping a hand on his back. “I was afraid you’d be gone all month!”

“Nah, just had to run into town for a few days to upgrade the security systems on some of the dispensaries, pick up some parts, see some friends…you know the drill.” Simon nodded toward a torchlit path that led deeper into the woods, indicating Aaron should walk with him. “So what’s new with you, Mathias? I haven’t seen you in months. You look different. Smell different, too. The way you carry yourself, your expression…you’ve changed, kid.”

Aaron smiled ruefully and caught Simon up on the highlights of what had transpired since the last time he’d visited the caern. “So, now I’m going back into the field again…and Natalie’s upset. I can’t blame her, either. She wants us to be together and try to live a normal life worse than anything in the world. I can’t give her that right now. And if…if something happens to me, I know it’ll break her.” He stopped in his tracks and looked at Simon. “Did I mess up? Should I have quit, and just told the other hunters to go deal with this themselves? She must love me, because I can’t imagine any woman letting a man put her through what I’m doing to her right now.”

Simon regarded Aaron with a cold stare, unblinking. “Aaron, you’re making a lot of hard choices these days. I’m not gonna lie to you and tell you that they’re bound to get any easier. They’re not.” He stepped closer toward the younger man and inhaled deeply. “No one else here is saying it to your face, Mathias, because you’ve fought to defend us before, which makes you a friend and a guest—but we can all smell the scent of the wolf on you. I know what Sharpe’s doctors did to heal you when you got shot.”

Aaron’s eyes widened at that. What? Scent of the wolf? Does that mean they gave me…no. It couldn’t be. That’s not possible…is it?

Simon continued; if he had taken note of Aaron’s surprise, he didn’t show it. “So that means you have a part of us in you now. Got parts of lots of other things in there too, for that matter. You’re still human, but you’ve got so much shit mixed up inside you that you’re not entirely a part of this world anymore. You’ll never be normal, Mathias, even if you do settle down. You have to accept that, and so does she, or it’s going to drive you both insane.”

“So does that mean I can never give Natalie the life she wants? The one she deserves?” Aaron said, his throat swelling with sorrow as he choked back a wave of emotions.

“Fuck no, it doesn’t.” Simon laid a hand on Aaron’s shoulders. “Listen, kid, just because you have a purpose to fulfill doesn’t mean you can’t live and love. Hell, look at us. We’re a family here. Husbands, wives, lifelong friends, blood brothers, hunting partners…our struggle doesn’t define us. It doesn’t mean we can’t fall in love or enjoy each other’s company. And none of us can fight forever. Dain and Forseti aren’t getting any younger, and the more battle scars they pick up, the more I worry about them going back into the fray again. Everyone’s role changes. Maybe it’s time for yours to change, too.”

“So you do think I should have quit, then,” Aaron said.

Simon shook his head and crossed his arms, leaning back against a tree on the trail. “I didn’t say that. There’s still a job to be done, Mathias. And as much as I absolutely fucking hate to say it, I agree with Sharpe—you’re probably one of the best people to go check out this shit in Las Vegas.” He inclined his head. “You know our charge, Aaron. You feel it echo in your blood, too, because our blood is your blood now, for better or for worse. Hunt the evil beneath every moon. Track it into the darkness where it lairs. Kill its spawn wherever it breeds. Rage against it with your dying breath.” Simon looked up again and smiled. “But in the meantime, stop walking around in the woods with surly old dudes like me and go show that girl how much you love her…and remind yourself of it, too, so that you remember all the reasons you have to come back to her alive.” He turned and stepped off the trail, firing back one last piece of advice. “Everyone’s good for a song and a story, Mathias. Make yours epic, and then get home in one piece to tell it.” With that, Simon disappeared into the treeline. A few seconds later, some hundred feet away, Aaron spotted a lean, brown-furred canine shape on a moonlit hilltop; it howled up at the half-moon overhead before disappearing into the darkness.

Aaron sighed heavily, composed himself, and began to walk back toward the firepit. When he got there, he found Natalie seated on the blanket with Marissa, playing with Promise. Eva and Mal were lost in each other, nearly oblivious to what was going on around them; only their clothing prevented their behavior from being outright lewd by most standards, but then the caernfolk weren’t exactly what you’d call prudes. Aaron couldn’t help but laugh at them as he sat down next to Nat. Promise was beginning to nod off; Marissa gathered the young girl into her arms and stood up. “I’m gonna go put her to bed. Be back in a bit.”

A few of Drake’s musicians, well into their cups by then, also stumbled off from the fire in search of either privies or bedrolls. One of them thrust a beaten-up six-string into Aaron’s hands as he passed, slurring at him in an Irish brogue. “Keep this warm for me, would ye, friend? I’ll be wantin’ her back once I’ve had a right and proper piss.” He stumbled off into the woods.

Aaron smiled and began to strum at the strings, grimacing at the dissonant tones. He turned one of the tuning pegs, ratcheting up the ever-errant B-string a quarter tone or so until it sounded true. Natalie gazed at him in astonishment. “What the actual fuck, Mathias? I had no idea you even played guitar.”

He grinned. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.” He fingered a chord and strummed again, nodding in satisfaction at the tuning. “My dad used to play in a funk band in college. Nothing serious, just frat house gigs and stuff like that. Anyway, he kept all of his guitars, so I messed around with them a lot growing up, and I learned the basics from watching and playing with him. I have a cheap one of my own stashed away somewhere in the apartment. I dig it out every now and then—usually only when I’m really drunk.”

Drake nodded and grinned wolfishly through his beard. “Best time to do it, if you ask me. Play us something, then. I’ll follow along.”

Mal and Eva ripped themselves away from each other to watch and listen. Aaron blushed, and began to move his hands across the strings. “It’s in F Major,” he said to Drake. As he launched into the chord progression, Drake matched his movements, adding solo fills and licks to flesh out the sound.

Natalie didn’t quite recognize the song at first, but then it came to her. His custom ringtone for my number. I’d only hear it when he’d ask me to call his phone if he lost it. We sang this song together so many times during hunts or on vacation, riding the highways. And then it came on the night I went to his apartment and turned on the music before he got home from work, right after he got out of the hospital…the night I realized how badly I needed him. The tempo was slower, the arrangement a series of drawn-out arpeggios and strums; Drake’s notes wove into Aaron’s chords beautifully, finding the sweet spots in the cadence and stretching them out. She closed her eyes and swayed along with the music, letting the wave of happy memories crash over her, leaving her euphoric. When Aaron and Drake finished, she hopped up and ran over to him. Moving the guitar out of the way, she placed herself in his lap. Grabbing his head with both her hands, she pulled him in for a kiss. The kiss went on much longer than their audience probably felt comfortable with.

Coming up for air, Natalie gasped, “Cabin…now!” Then she climbed off his lap, grabbed his hand, and led him back to their room for the night.

Marissa was just returning to the campfire as Natalie was dragging Aaron off. “Did I miss something?” she said, regarding Drake quizzically.

The shaggy-haired werewolf smiled and re-tuned his guitar. “You gotta love how music brings people together.”

Natalie opened her eyes as the early morning sunlight came in through the thin curtains hanging over the cabin’s only window. She stretched and looked over to see Aaron sound asleep on his back. She rolled over to rest her head on his chest, her hand absentmindedly caressing his chest and arm. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply. Her flight back to L.A. was later today, and she didn’t know when she’d get to wake up next to Aaron again. She tried to take in as much of the moment as she could—the feel of his skin, the warmth of his body next to hers, his scent—to file away for the upcoming nights when her bed would feel too big, too cold.

Too few minutes later, she felt his chest heave in a yawn; his eyes had opened. “Hey gorgeous,” he said huskily, coughing lightly; being on the farm didn’t help his usual suite of bad habits one bit. “Did we miss breakfast?”

“I don’t think so. I bet you’re starving between the farm’s specialty and the workout I gave you last night.” She rolled over, draping her arms on his chest and resting her chin on them so she could look at him. There were circles under her eyes that hinted at the restless night she’d had.

Aaron ran his hands down the smooth skin of her back, his fingers tracing the outline of the red and blue jellyfish on her shoulder almost instinctively. “It does keep my appetite going. At least the chores keep us in good shape, though.”

Natalie winced reached over to rub her bare shoulder, “Yeah, the chores. That’s one thing I won’t miss when I leave today. Eva said she’d drive me to the airport, I know you really need to start mission prep.”

He averted his eyes. “Guess so. I’ve got sword practice with Dain and Keppler right after breakfast…but after that, I think they’re gonna go easy on me so I can spend some time with you.” He kissed her, first on the forehead, then on the mouth. “Come on, let’s get some clothes on and fuel up. Harms showed me a really neat hiking trail the other day on patrol that I want us to check out before you go.” He slid sideways out of the bed, pulling on a pair of black nylon tac pants and heavy-duty boots and reaching for a t-shirt that had been catapulted onto the windowsill the night before.

Nat stretched out one more time, then slowly stood up. Walking towards the bathroom, she mumbled mid-yawn, “I’m gonna shower. Meet you at the dining hall?”

“Wait,” Aaron said. He pulled his shirt on and leaned down next to the bed, rummaging through his satchel and withdrawing a sealed envelope with her full legal name typed on it; the return address on the envelope was for ASI’s in-house legal counsel. He turned, a somber expression on his face. “Natalie, you need to hold on to this.”

She frowned and turned towards her bag that she’d tossed on a nearby chair. “I feel like this is a conversation I should be wearing clothes for.” After slipping on a purple linen sundress, she grabbed the envelope from his outstretched hand. “Aaron, what is this?” She held it in both of her hands as if it contained the weight of the world.

“Something I hope you never have to open. My will, signed and notarized. Dispensation instructions, and some additional requests, in case…things go bad in Las Vegas. You’re named as executor. A notarized copy is on file with ASI’s lawyers, but this is the original. I don’t trust anyone but you to have it.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What the actual fuck, Mathias? You’ve seen my apartment. I am the worst person to give something like this to.” She looked at him with a wavering smile. Her brown eyes glistened with tears she was willing not to fall. For the first time in her life she understood how her mom must have felt all those times her dad left for his shifts at the fire department. She silently prayed that she would never have to receive a call in the middle of the night about Aaron.

“I know, that’s why I’m doing it,” he said with a wry laugh. “If I started doing sensible, rational things now, people would know I’ve lost my fucking mind instead of just suspecting it. Gotta keep the pattern going so nothing goes astray, right?” His expression turned serious again. “Like I said: I don’t intend to ever let you open it. But, always have a backup plan. Mal got me thinking about it, actually; she said it’d be a good idea to get my affairs in order.” He couldn’t suppress a grin and a wide-eyed stare. “She also asked how I wanted to dispose of my remains in that eventuality; I don’t think she liked my answer very much.” He pulled her close, locking eyes with her. “It’s just a precaution. I plan on fighting like a hellhound to get out of there alive if I have to. And I’ve got a really solid team going in with me. We’ll watch out for each other.”

My dad was with his brother, cousin, and best friend, and he still had a building collapse on him. Natalie looked back down at the envelope, unable to fight the tears anymore. One by one they fell onto the envelope, spreading moisture across its surface. “Oh fuck!” She exclaimed and started frantically trying to dry it off on her dress. “See? I’m already screwing this up!”

He couldn’t help but laugh, even through his own tears. “I’m pretty sure it’s still legally binding. Look, Nat, I’m sorry to put a pall over our morning with this, but I had to…and you didn’t really give me the chance to do it yesterday. So, the needful is done. It’s over. Let’s just forget about it and enjoy our day.” He wiped the tears from her cheeks with the tail of his shirt and kissed her. “I love you. So, so much. One last mission, to end this thing once and for all. And then things change.”

Natalie hugged him back as tight as she could. The entire time he spoke, she couldn’t shake the feeling that even if he did make it back to her, this wouldn’t be his last mission.

Charles wiped his brow as he shrugged off the riot gear and stowed it back in its case. While great for stopping a bullet (and posing for pictures), the heavy gear was hot and stifling. He and Keith had finished taking inventory of the Valkyrie gear, and he needed a break. There had been a lot more to take note of than he had believed at first. Who would have thought that the caern getting attacked would have resulted in such a windfall of weapons and armor for the Union?

Charles walked out away from the center of the caern, out toward the woods, the fields, the greenhouses comprising what he had heard the werewolves refer to as “the bawn”. He sat down on a stump overlooking a small stream running through the meadow. The past few days had been a whirlwind of action and killing. Charles let out a deep breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Looking out over the green landscape, he felt at peace for the first time in days.

A heavy hand fell on Charles’ shoulder.

“Jesus Christ!” He leapt up, spinning around, and had his gun halfway cleared from his holster before recognizing the colossal figure in front of him. “Hey…. Big Man, right? Sorry about that, you startled me.” Charles holstered his pistol. How could something that big be that quiet? He held out his hand. “I’m Charles.”

The huge man took Charles hand in his own, enveloping it, and shook firmly. He pulled a small slate that was hanging around his neck over his head, and wrote for a moment. Forseti, actually.

Forseti handed Charles a bottle that was in his other hand. He lowered himself gently to the earth beside the stump, favoring his wounded leg. Charles sat back on the stump, finding that with the giant sitting on the ground they were still at relative eye level. He took a pull from the bottle as Forseti sipped his own. Cold, dark, sweet beer flowed down his throat. “Oh god that’s good… thanks, man.” He was rewarded with a huge thumbs up.

The two sat silently for a while, looking out over the landscape. Raised voices floated down from the center of the caern again. Charles recognized Eva’s voice, and the odd Spanish curse word.

“Huh. Seems like we’re all mad about something or at someone these days. Everything’s going wrong… some of us are wanted, some of us are losing it…. Some of us are dead. We’ve all seen things no one is meant to see. I’d hoped we would start getting answers by now, but all I have is more questions.”

Charles took a long drink. “I think it’s starting to get to me. I’m just angry all the time these days… I wasn’t always. I’m starting to worry I’m going to take it out on one of the team. Sometimes they just don’t listen and I see red.”

Forseti grinned. I know a lot about rage.

“Yeah? What do you do?”

Find your center. Keep what’s important to you. Protect your pack. Correct them when they need it. The big man scribbled and erased, scribbled and erased. Laugh when you can. When all else fails, howl at the moon and go for the enemy’s throat.

Charles stared for a moment. “Huh.” He drained his beer. “Thanks for the advice. Want another beer?”

Mal's memory-age 9

“That is an excellent diagram, Mallory.” said her science teacher, inspecting the drawing of a myofibril she was copying out of an anatomy textbook.

“Thank you,” she replied, not looking up from her drawing. “I am particularly interested in the conduction pathways of cardiac muscle, but I feel like an overall understanding of all three muscle types would be appropriate for this particular project.”

Her teacher’s smile faltered for a moment. “Well you’re doing a great job—keep it up,” she said before heading off to check on the next student.

Her concentration was broken a few minutes later by a loud bragging voice. “Yeah, I’m definitely going to win the dumb science fair. I’m building a robot.” A group of boys were sitting in a cluster of desks; the boastful speaker was a large blonde boy in the center.

She frowned as she sharpened her colored pencil. Zach wouldn’t know good science if he was hit him in the back of the head. He was a lazy bully, and it wouldn’t surprise her if his parents built his robot for him. But she knew that he would win anyway, because his project was something flashy that transcended a mere piece of posterboard. She would need to do better, but the question was how.

As she walked home, she was still considering that question. It would be really nice if I could get some slides of actual muscle tissue, she mused. And it wouldn’t just be for the project—I would love to see the difference between cardiac muscle and skeletal muscle firsthand. But where am I going to get the samples? She pondered this for a moment when the red awning of the butcher shop caught her eye. Without hesitation, she dashed across the street, ignoring the angry shout from the man in the car that almost hit her.

The door opened with a cheerful jingle of a bell, and she head toward the back of the store, grabbing a paper number from the red dispenser. She looked at the poster behind the counter that illustrated the different cuts of beef. A round cut would suit her needs best, and she spotted a piece of meat behind the glass labeled “round eye roast”. It wasn’t too large and mostly devoid of fat, which would make slicing it easier.
“Number 10!” She handed her slip of paper to the man behind the counter. He was an older gentleman, with a warm smile. “What can I get for you, young lady?”

“I want that steak there.” She pointed out the roast, and he wrapped it up in a piece of brown paper. “Anything else?” he asked, handing her the package.

“Yes, do you happen to have any beef hearts available? Oh, and kidneys as well.”

He eyed her critically for a moment. “Well now, that’s not normally something we keep behind the counter…but let me check for you.”

She bounced on the balls of her feet, while counting the money in her wallet. She had been saving up her allowance, but somehow this seemed more important. When he returned a few moments later, she could barely contain her excitement. She handed him the money and practically ran out of the store, trying to remember where her father kept his old microscope in the basement.

“Ouch!” As she tried to transfer the strip of beef onto the slide, the glass broke, and a shard was lodged in her thumb. Tears of frustration and pain welled in her eyes as she removed the glass, running her injured digit under cold water. She had spent the last two hours trying to slice the meat thin enough, but it wasn’t working. But she wasn’t going to give up; the prospect of actually seeing the single nucleus in the cardiac tissue was too exciting. Maybe I just need a different tool, she thought, as she watched the blood swirl with the water down the drain.

“What are you doing?” She spun around and saw her father standing in the doorway, taking in the sight of bloody ragged cuts of beef littering the countertop, some of it dripping onto the floor.

She turned off the water and dried her hands on a towel. “Science project.” She felt guilty; there was blood everywhere, and she waited for him to say something.

Her father wasn’t an angry man, but she still expected him to chide her for smearing blood all over the lens of his microscope. Please say something. She had gotten used to his indifference, as much as a nine-year-old could, but in this moment she needed something, anything, from him.

They continued to stare at each other and she could swear that she saw his expression soften, and hope blossomed in her chest. Maybe he can help me. “Dad, I…”

But the moment had passed, and he said “Clean this up before you go to bed.” He strode through the kitchen, avoiding the mess, and began to make himself a sandwich.

The tears finally began to fall and she bowed her head, shaking. She couldn’t explain it, but this project was important to her. She had never asked anything of him before, so would it hurt to try?

“Dad, I need your help. You’re a biologist, you know how to do this. Please help me.” Only she never said the words out loud, and by the time she looked up again, he was gone.

It was past midnight before she was finished cleaning up the kitchen. She practically dragged herself to the bathroom to get washed up and properly clean her wound. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was racing, thoughts of despair threatening to consume her. She had always just accepted he was gone most of the time, and when he was around he remained distant. But somehow this situation had broken down a wall inside of her, and she started putting words to the emotions she didn’t realize she had. What have I done wrong? Have I disappointed him in some way? A sob escaped her as she voiced the most painful question of all. What can I do to make him love me?

She sobbed for a few more minutes, but slowly she was able to pull herself together. She blew her nose, and as she was doing so caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Suddenly a memory overtook her—one that up until now had confused her.

It was of the last time they had gone to church, about four years ago. It was Easter Sunday, and the pews were full to capacity with people like them, who only attended twice a year out of obligation. Her father told her to find a seat, and she slid in next to two women who were chatting amiably to each other. “Good morning,” she said politely, smoothing out the skirt of her dress.

“Good morning to you too!” said one of the women, smiling at her. “I’m Agnes, what’s your name?”

“I’m Mallory.” she mumbled, looking at her feet. At the time she couldn’t explain why, but all of this attention made her nervous.

“That’s a very pretty name. Are your parents going to join you?”

She didn’t get a chance to answer before Agnes exclaimed, “Wait a moment, you’re Jane’s daughter, aren’t you?”

Mal turned and stared at her, eyes wide. “You knew my mom?”

“Of course! Lovely woman, God rest her soul. She volunteered at the food pantry at the church for many years. But oh my goodness, look at you—you look just like her!”

She didn’t know what to say to that; she barely remembered her motherand , they never talked about her at home. She was about to ask, “What else can you tell me about her?” but her father grabbed her arm, painfully dragging her to her feet. “We’re leaving. Now.”

She struggled to keep up as they walked out of the sanctuary, waving sadly to Agnes as they left.

Mal opened her eyes, and suddenly she realized the truth. She finally understood the reason why he wouldn’t look at her, why he barely acknowledged her at all. It’s not my fault that he can’t move on. That’s his problem, not mine. I can’t help it if I look like her. I can’t change my biology—it’s not my fault.

On the heels of this realization came another set of thoughts. Thoughts that would ultimately shape who she would become. I don’t need his approval. Why should I feel bad about myself if he doesn’t care? I am better than this. I’ve always taken care of myself, and will continue to do so. I don’t need anyone, and I certainly don’t need him.

This was the first time that she would rationalize her feelings away, but it wouldn’t be the last. She wiped her eyes and straightened up, her resolve strengthening within her. She pulled open one of the drawers under the sink, searching for the antibiotic ointment. She didn’t find it, but instead, she found something so much better. A grin spread across her face as she pulled out a package of single-blade disposable razors.

I don’t need you, she reaffirmed before dashing down the stairs to retrieve the meat from the trashcan.

Taz leaves Seattle and heads to The Farm

Taz had no idea what Eva had been saying, of course, but she got it. Pay attention. No mental wandering off. It was surprisingly easy, in a way. Driving seemed to put her in a meditative state similar to tinkering with gadgets; the choreography between pedals and gearshift, wheel and road flowed smoothly. You almost could believe she’d done this before.

A burst of ruby bloomed across the muscle car’s windshield as another mosquito grown fat on cattles’ blood met a high-speed end. The Wyoming wind and sun crystallized it into a disturbingly beautiful pattern and Taz winced slightly at the growing collection in her view. She’d have to stop at a gas station to scrub them off soon, or she’d start creating dangerous constellations in their arrangements. At least the sun was out again. The sudden thunderstorm that rolled into Cheyenne last night had driven Taz from her starlit perch atop a rocky outcropping and into the back seat of the Camaro, hidden from nosey travelers behind and under a convenient stone ledge. Vaguely remembering countless other nights without shelter, Taz had breathed a word of thanks to Mike for the gift of this tremendous machine before dropping into sleep as the storm raged overhead.

She had awoken to a landscape swept clean and refreshed. Even the air had a feel of pleasant anticipation, full of green and hopeful scents, and Taz basked in it. Today she’d finally get to see The Farm. The words formed in her mind in bold letters. She wasn’t even sure what The Farm was, but from the various descriptions Granger, Ed, Eva, and others had shared, it sounded wondrous. The sphinx would be there! Maybe! And werewolves! She’d never met a werewolf. At least, she thought she hadn’t. Had she? No, those were vampires. Peaceful New Hampshire vampires. A smile ghosted across her lips, then faded. Peaceful, except for one.

Vampire Jack with his gleaming white fangs. She was bleeding, crawling over the asphalt toward him, lighting a Molotov cocktail she’d cobbled together with gasoline and her own clothes in a desperate bid to destroy him. He’d gotten away, though, and Chester had died.

“Taz, be careful! You’re going to hurt someone!”

Taz’s hands spasmed on the wheel for just a second. Whose voice was that? It sounded familiar. The memory was fading, though, and the brown wooden sign alongside Interstate 25 welcomed her into “Colorful Colorado!” A thought from the previous night resurfaced and Taz scrambled to catch it. Tremendous machine…where did I…oh! She patted the dashboard of the ’79 Camaro as she christened it with a new name: Secretariat. A tumbleweed skittered across the highway; she dodged it smoothly, the corners of her mouth lifting as she recognized a sense of kinship with the gnarled, wandering plant. She had tumbled her way across the world for years. But not now.

“So you can consider this place a home if you want. I want to set up Granger’s Own as a safe place that the more transient folk in the Contingent can use. A sort of ‘stay as long as you like and just chip in around the garage while you’re here’ kind of thing. Besides, it’s fun having people around that get you…”

So this is what it feels like to have a direction. Not only a direction, but the ability to follow it, and people to remind you where to go when you get lost. The lessons with Eva and Granger on the old dirt track in South Carolina were a blur of laughter, Spanish, and hardcore defensive driving instruction. Poor Eva had her hands full trying to keep the two crafting lunatics from modifying the Camaro while in the act of driving it, threatening them with cocotazos – painful knocks on the head – if they didn’t “stop fucking around and pay attention to the fucking road, por Díos!” Their protests that this was field training for the next time a fae demon ripped the steering wheel off mid-chase earned them less leeway than they thought they deserved. Moonshine and campfires next to the track afterwards led to drunken stories and even more drunken songs. Good moments. Don’t forget them.

Do not forget them.

Taz downshifted as she came up on more road construction, wrinkling her nose in anticipation of the heavy odor of concrete millings; since she’d dropped off Virgil Halfdollar at the train depot in Oregon, she’d seen dozens of crews working to repair the damage from the previous winter before the next one could arrive. She hoped for Virgil’s sake that the railroad tracks were being equally restored. They’d shared a companionable drive down from Seattle, quietly going over the strange events at Alex’s grandfather’s house, mourning the deaths of those who never made it out of that altered world, speculating on Alex’s challenges going forward, if ASI ever figures out how to get her out of that coma. Nothing was clear about that mission to her, and Taz wanted to kick herself for not searching out more answers to the Promethean’s bizarre actions while she had the chance. Even the creature’s smell had mimicked Alex’s, which was a lesson Taz anxiously tried to pin in her mind: don’t trust your senses too much in alternative realities. Granted, a seven-horned demon chasing you through a deadly glass maze does put the drive for research on the backburner. But still…it seemed like there was a logical pattern underneath it all. The dark side of Alex, made physical. To destroy? To embrace?

To remember?

Alex’s dark side had fangs. Gleaming white fangs in a jar of oily black fluid.

A shadow seemed to cross over Taz’s eyes, and she gripped the wheel again, shaking her head violently for just a second. Everything’s fine. We got Alex back, we took down a murderous blood ritualist, and created new allies for the Contingent among the Ashbury…something-something…people. That radiation from beyond Pluto seems to be popping up more and more often. She briefly regretted using this latest bit to explode the Promethean, but consoled herself with the hope that this new status…something…with Empire might give her a chance to recreate her beloved Flashy Thing. They’d sent her a drone with new instructions on what she can access, and it was all very confusing and exciting.

The Union had also sent her a message: something about a mentor? Mentors are good; she wondered what the mentoring was for. She’d picked Ed because she liked the surly ranger and she was pretty sure she’d met him a few times. Nobody else’s names looked familiar, but she guessed she’d find out if she knew them when she arrived at The Farm.

Red Hot Chili Peppers came on the radio, the perfect song for a perfect day. Finally past the roadwork signs, Taz hit the gas and cruised southward, every mile bringing her closer to her friends.

“Yeah? Okay, you got them then? Good. Yes I’m sure I want to do this. Thanks.” Josie stood at the doorway, watching Wayne as he sat on the porch talking on his cellphone. She wasn’t sure who he was talking to lately, but she knew he was up to something. A few times he had been talking to different people from the contingent, at other times, she couldn’t figure out who was on the other line. The day before she had overheard an argument between him and Becky-Sue, who worked in the garage Wayne owned. It was unusual for him to keep a secret like this, and it had been slowly eating away at her. Something had changed for Wayne, but it was a complete mystery to Josie. He had shared only a few details from his trip to Seattle, where he had gone to save Alex, and it seemed as though his opinion on the Contingent wasn’t the same as it had been. He seemed determined to stay, as though it was his duty.

“What was that about?” She asked, walking out of the cabin, coffee in hand. She smiled to him, sitting down beside him, bumping his knee with one of hers in a playful gesture.

“That’s was my lawyer, the sale went through.” He said with a smile as he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“What sale?” She asked raising an eyebrow, setting her mug on the floor beside her..

“I sold the business.” He replied flatly, as if it was like selling some old baseball cards.

“You what?” She leaned forward, raising her voice slightly. His business was not only his livelihood, but his passion. “What the shit Wayne. Why? Why would you go and do that?” He could only stare at her, bewildered.

“Because, I wanted to?” He seemed very surprised by her reaction. She leaned back in her chair with a deep sigh.

“You made that business what it was, build it up from nothing. And you just…you sold it?”

He realized she wasn’t going to let this go. “Josie, I didn’t want it anymore. After Dallas, after seeing the pictures taken of me eating lunch, of you sleeping—the garage, my house, they will never be home again. The thought of going back there makes me sick.” She shifted in her seat, feeling slightly nervous by her boyfriend’s actions.

“Well, what will you do now?” She tried to keep her voice steady as she turned to look at him once more.

“I’m not tied to anything now, I can go—we can go anywhere we want. Of course things don’t change completely. I’d imagine we are going to continue to help the contingent. They are going to need the help—now more than ever.” He trailed off for a moment. “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t enjoy our time together, and go where we want, does it? Tell me, where would you like to go?” Josie grabbed his hands with hers, determination in her eyes.

Session 5 (Cathy)

“So, this is the Secret Frequency you all keep talking so much about, huh?” Gina leaned over blocking, Natalie’s view of the screen. Her breath smelled sweet and spicy like cinnamon. Nat was worried about her friend; she had bags under her eyes that no amount of makeup could hide.

“It’s not really a physical place, Gina.” Natalie gently nudged the woman to the side so she could see the screen again. “We’re kind of everywhere—this is just how we contact each other.” Natalie stood up from the computer to let Gina take the lead. “Okay, I’ve logged in and you can send out your request.”

“This is so much better than trying to coordinate with beepers like we did when I started hunting. Plus, girl, no one could really look cool wearing one of those things.” Gina’s long red fingernails flew over the keyboard of Nat’s laptop. How does she type with those talons? Natalie read over the woman’s shoulder, her concern growing as Gina revealed her request for help.

Hello Hunters, Gina here. I’ve been having some real disturbing dreams lately and you all know how I get when I haven’t had my beauty sleep. It started with dreams of an underground tomb. Around the edge of the tomb are decayed bodies draped in rosaries. In the center are other bodies that look…fresher. They have tubes of blood coming out of their bodies. At that point the dream shifts and I feel myself being pulled out and up. I fly upward through rock and stone until I am nearly blinded by sunlight reflecting off of a dome. I am standing outside of St. Peter’s Basilica. There are hundred of black birds perched on top of the statues that line the square. All at once their beaks open and I hear them squawking my name over and over. I turn to run and the ground begins to crumble beneath me and chunks of the scenery begin to fall beneath my feet. Then I wake up.

I have to go to Rome and figure out what this all means. It’s starting to scare me; something bad is coming and we have to try to stop it. I don’t want to go alone. Will some of you come along with me?

Hunters

Writeups

Session 5 (Justin)

We’re being hunted. Alex Lathem has been taken. Since Carver’s death, many groups in the shadows have started moving against us. I need a smart group of hunters to get her back. This is obviously a trap. It will be violent, but I also hope that some of our more persuasive individuals will join in to help turn our enemies to allies.